Education of the Heart
by E.M.K.81
Summary: Mostly based on the ALW Musical. What if the managers and Raoul had the decent idea to ask the magistrate for help? They manage to catch the Phantom alive and the Phantom has to make the hardest decision in his life and is getting a chance that might save him - or destroy him. The Phantom has to face his most dangerous foe – himself. Starring: almost all characters from the musical
1. How to ensnare a Phantom

**Education of the Heart**

 _Summary: Mostly based on the ALW Musical. I have Ramin Karimloo in the 25th Anniversary in mind when I write this. What if the managers and Raoul had the decent idea to ask the magistrate for help? A dedicated young magistrate has an idea how to catch the Phantom alive and the Phantom has to make the hardest decision in his life and is getting a chance that might save him - or destroy him. Starring: almost all characters from ALW Phantom of the Opera and some OC._

 **How to ensnare a Phantom**

The masked ball had been a disaster. The Phantom, who had been absent for six month, was back and he was even more dangerous than ever. Giles Andre and Richard Firmin wished he would only demand money - they'd gladly paid 20.000 Franc a month if in return he would stay away from the opera. But this was not about money or some changes in the cast - this was a personal vendetta of the Phantom against... against whom? Well, he hated La Carlotta. This the managers could understand to a certain degree, that woman had a terrible temperament an was an utter drama queen. He hated the managers for they had defied him and he hated the patron Raoul de Chagny for he was Christine Daae's fiancee. And the Phantom had great interest in Christine Daae, no one could overlook that.

The three men - Andre, Firmin and the Vicomte de Chagny - sat in the office of the magistrate, a young man called Clemenceau. Clemenceau was the man who had been investigating the murder of Buquet and the chandelier-crash, which had killed even more people. He had not found out much since the Phantom had disappeared after the chandelier crash and he had suggested the Phantom might have fled to avoid being arrested, but at the masked ball the Phantom had been there, standing tall between thousands of people, threatening them, blackmailing them again.

"What can we do?" Andre sighed, "What can we do without risking him killing again? He said: 'There are worse things than a chattered chandelier.' What do you think he could be up to?"

Clemenceau shrugged. "If I knew I would be as criminal insane as he is. No one knows what madmen are thinking. But I agree that we have to catch him before he commits another crime."

"If we perform his work like he wanted us to do? If Christine Daae sings as he demanded, he will attend to hear her. We could lay a trap," the Vicomte suggested.

"A trap in the midst of an opera? Endangering thousands of people?" Clemenceau replied "I don't think so."

"But what else could we do? Wait for him to kill again?" Firmin was close to hyperventilate.

"Monsieur le Vicomte - I read the reports and I know that the only person who ever saw him is Christine Daae. You said that he kidnapped her and let her go again, you say that he claims to love her. Is that correct?" the magistrate asked, adjusting his glasses.

"Yes, that is correct," Raoul answered uneasily.

"In that case - what do you think our Phantom fellow is willing to do to help Christine Daae if she needs him?"

"She said he'd kill a thousand men for her," the Vicomte answered, "And from what we have seen I am afraid that is exactly what he will do if we do not stop him."

Clemenceau smiled: "Then we try it like this. I will have Christine Daae seemingly arrested and claim that she is the Phantom's accomplice."

"Are you mad? He's going on a killing spree if he hears that!" Andre shrieked. He really shrieked.

"Who else could know something about the Phantom?" Clemenceau asked.

"Madame Giry, she always delivers his letters," Firmin answered, "Do you suspect her to be his accomplice?"

"I do not suspect anyone without having any evidence. She could as well be another victim of his blackmail. So... I need to talk to Madame Giry and to Mademoiselle Daae. I need them to tell me everything they know. Then we can set a trap."

* * *

It was not easy to persuade Christine Daae to talk about the Phantom. Clemenceau learned that the girl was terrified of the deformed madman, but at the same time pitied him and did not even want him to be arrested. She clearly was his victim, but a victim who somehow had grown fond of her perpetrator, she wanted to help him and the only way Clemenceau could get her to tell him anything was when he promised that he would try everything to help the deformed man. "He clearly needs help," Christine said, "He's not a monster, he's just... I do not know... he has done horrible things, but... only because he's so lonely and he has suffered so much abuse."

"Mademoiselle, I see you have a good heart and are willing to forgive him..." Clemenceau started, wondering if he should send the girl away for her own sake, she was mad to beg for help for the man who kidnapped her and threatened her constantly, "But you understand that we need to arrest him before he commits another crime?"

"If you lock him behind bars, be it a prison or an asylum for the criminal insane, it will kill him," Christine sobbed.

Clemenceau sighed. There was a certain character flaw in women - their unpredictable need to help someone, their hope that the culprit who had wronged them would turn out to be a good man at heart. Why did all women hope they could change a man? A beast is a beast and never turns to a prince. That is something that only happens in fairy tales. "Mademoiselle Daae, I promise I will find a way to help him. You see, if we want to arrest him, we need to put him under pressure to the breaking point and then offer him a way out. It has to be a way out he could appreciate, otherwise he'll never give himself up. You see, there are certain doctors who want to make an experiment. They claim that criminal insane could be cured and want to test a completely new treatment. If he agrees to be the first patient to undergo that treatment and he would be cured, he will be rehabilitated and might even be able to reintegrate into society. If not, he will be treated well, he might actually be happy."

"What am I to do?" Christine asked, feeling horrible for she betrayed the man who loved her so much, the man who had raised her from a chorus girl to a diva who rivaled the current primadonna of the Opera Populaire.

* * *

It was hard to believe, but Madame Giry was even more protective of the Phantom than Christine. She talked about him like he was her wayward son, telling endless stories of the man she had seen years ago in a travelling fair. A deformed man, put on display for the crowd to gawk at. He had been ill, the rags on his back barely covering him, his body bruised and filthy, close to death. His tormentors had boasted he was an architect, a musician, a scholar, an inventor - but all she had seen was a man close to death in a filthy cage without protection against the cold weather.

"Where was the magistrate when they tortured him like that?" she challenged, "Where was the magistrate? I went to them, I reported what I had seen - what did they do?"

Clemenceau thought about this. So there was a file about this man, only back then he had been the victim. "I will take that into consideration," he answered, wondering if this Madame Giry was really a victim or the Phantom or the accomplice. She was the second one to speak in his favor, and this after she admitted that he had ensured her cooperation by threatening her daughter. How could a mother speak in defense of a man who threatened to take her daughter hostage and torture her, if she did not cooperate?

This Phantom must be a master in manipulation, a really charismatic man who would be able to manipulate his victims to pity him. This Phantom might be the most dangerous criminal in France of all times.

"Madame, if you reported that I will find the file and of course consider it in his favor," Clemenceau promised, "If it is true then my plan might be the best for this man - he would get the treatment he needs to overcome that mental illness that makes him so dangerous. As Mademoiselle Daae has already pointed out to me - this man is mentally ill, he can't be held responsible for what he does, but if we do not catch him, he will go on killing people. Once he is in our custody he will get the treatment he needs and if he can be cured he even could be a free man again, don't you see that this is in his best interest?"

* * *

And so they began to lay the trap. Madame Giry left the Phantom a note from Christine, she asked him to meet her, she needed his help. She would wait for him at her father's grave. The Phantom did not like this - leaving the opera house and going to the graveyard was an immense danger, especially now when catching the Phantom was priority number one in the police. But he could not say no and he understood that Christine could not come to the opera house now that it was full of policemen who searched for him.

He debated with himself if this might be a trap - if Christine would be followed by the police. She would not betray him, would she? But she could be followed. So he decided that he would follow her and dispose of everyone else who followed her. But she went on foot from her flat to the graveyard - without being followed. Since no one but her knew when and where they met, he felt save enough to reveal himself.

That moment he noticed that he had walked right into a trap. Policemen were everywhere, they had awaited him. He turned his back to a large gravestone and grabbed Christine, holding her tight, using her as a shield. "You betrayed me," he whispered in her ear, "You lured me here, you bitch!"

"It is for your own sake," Christine answered, "They can help you."

"Help me? What, by beheading me? Chaining me up behind bars?" the Phantom snarled.

"Surrender yourself or we shoot," Clemenceau cried out.

"You wouldn't dare!" the Phantom hissed, still using Christine as a shield. A bullet hit the gravestone close to their heads and Christine cried out in shock.

"The next one is for her - she's you accomplice so why should we spare her?" Clemenceau called out, "You have no choice - surrender or we shoot you both!"

The Phantom stared at Christine in his arms. Her face was white and she was shaking with fear. Had he been alone he would have attacked the policemen by now, he was rather willing to die instead of being arrested, but Christine? He could not bear the thought of his lovely Christine being hit by a bullet and die bleeding in the mud of the graveyard. Not even now that he knew she had betrayed him. He still loved her.

"Don't shoot!" the Phantom called out and let go of Christine, waiting for her to run from him, but she did not. "Christine - go. They want me. They will not shoot you."

"But they will shoot you," she whispered. She had not realized this was exactly what he was hoping for.

"Go," he whispered desperately. Why didn't she understand? He needed her to go, he needed...

BANG

A shot rang out and the Phantom sank to the ground. The marksman had hit his target - the Phantom's left leg. Not deadly, but incapacitating him. The Phantom groaned in pain as he reached for the small derringer he had. He had to kill himself now, kill himself before they could arrest him. But then he felt Christine's soft hands on his, she held him so he could not turn the gun against himself. "Do not do this," she said, "Please. You have to trust me. If you love me, if you love me as you claim you do, you surrender. Or you have to kill me first."

The Phantom stared at her, stared at her beautiful eyes, and found he could not do it. Bleeding, hurt, unable to walk, surrounded by police - he had could not do it. He could not fight her and risk to shoot her by accident while fighting for the derringer. She would not let go, he knew that, he saw the determination in her eyes. "Will you visit me?" he answered miserably. Being imprisoned without ever seeing her again was unbearable. "Yes, I will," she promised. He let go of the derringer and it fell to the ground.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _I have too many ideas right now. So I have now two fanfics to write... well, why not._

 _This was the first chapter, and much happened - they lured the Phantom into a trap and caught him. Stay tuned for the next chapter to find out if the magistrate keeps his word of finding a way to help the Phantom._


	2. the Offer

**Education of the Heart**

 **the Offer**

The magistrate sat in his office, trying to think. It had been a very hard week, he suddenly was declared a hero for catching the Phantom but the true hero was the girl. The young singer had somehow managed to persuade the masked madman to give himself up when everyone was prepared for a fight to the death. Now the dreaded Phantom was behind bars and he was injured. Not badly, the marksman had been the best one could find in France and hit his target perfectly. It was a flesh wound in the left leg, making it impossible to run or to walk but with proper care the man would heal and would not suffer any long-term consequences.

It was time to face him, time to interrogate him, get his confession and to make him an offer. He opened the door and asked the one man who could help him with this Phantom inside and offered him a seat.

"And you really claim to be be able to cure the criminal insane?" Clemenceau asked after the usual small-talk. He was not convinced but he was an honorable man and he had promised this brave girl he would help the deformed maniac and this was the best he could do.

The doctor was a middle-aged man, tall and chubby, with blue eyes and blonde hair, but in the blonde there was some white. "The treatment has never been tested before," the doctor admitted, "So this is to be an experiment. I think that with proper treatment and training most criminals could be reintegrated into society. We only got the official licence to do this experiment and there has been a generous donation to our University so the funds are there. I think this Phantom would be the perfect patient for us - if we can cure someone like him, we can cure almost everyone. But it depends on his willingness to cooperate. If he refuses to cooperate, we can do nothing for him."

"It is up to him then," Clemenceau stated.

It took some time and the prisoner was lead in. He wore brown prisoner's clothing and was supported by the guards for he could not use his left leg now and they did not trust him with a walking stick. They had allowed him his mask and wig. Clemenceau wondered why they needed thirty men to guard one injured prisoner but said nothing. He got up and told the guards to wait outside, he was sure the prisoner would not even try to escape with his injury.

"Please have a seat," Clemenceau said and allowed the masked man to sit in a comfortable armchair before he opened his shackles, "I am Clemenceau, the magistrate. This is Baron Thomas de Benevole, the doctor. He has an interesting offer for you. And you are?"

The Phantom was taken aback. He had not thought they would treat him with so much civility. But he would not allow himself to be fooled like that, he was furious with himself for walking into their trap like some inexperienced idiot. When he did not answer the magistrate shrugged and sat down behind his desk. He rang a bell and soon a guard looked inside. "Please bring me a cup of tea. Monsieur de Benevole, what my I offer you?"

"Coffee, thank you."

"And, Monsieur I-do-not-tell-my-name, what may I offer you?"

The Phantom stared at the magistrate, barely able to understand what was happening. Was he just offered something to drink as if they were sitting in a gentlemen's club having a nice chat? "Yes," he said, trying to clear his head, which was not easy because he had been kept drugged to ease the pain in his leg and keep him calm and quiet, "Coffee would be nice. And a glass of water."

The guard was sent away and soon came back with a tray with two cups of coffee, a cup of tea and a glass of water. He placed the tray on the desk and left.

"Are you willing to hear our offer?" the magistrate asked.

"Offer? What offer?" the Phantom asked, not understanding what was going on. He had fully expected torture and abuse, being forced to sign some confession prior to being killed.

"If you claim to be criminally insane you are not responsible for your crimes," Benevole explained, "And if you agree to a new method of treatment and it works you might even be able to reintegrate into society."

"You mean... I could be a free man?" the Phantom asked astonished.

"If the treatment really cures you from your mental illness that drove you to committing crimes, yes," Clemenceau confirmed.

"What sort of treatment is that?" the Phantom asked. Right now he was in their hands but he would not agree to any torture they called treatment.

"It is an untested method," Benevole told him, "You would be taken away from Paris to a property a few kilometers south of Paris. There you would live together with the doctors and the care assistants and you would be the only patient for now. The treatment is... uncommon. You see, there is a treatment method that is completely new and requires that you talk about yourself. Plus we would try to teach you to live a normal life."

"A normal life... But if I am not mentally ill at all?" the Phantom asked, he did not consider himself mad.

"Then you are just another criminal to stand trial and get your punishment," Clemenceau answered. He began to doubt this man was really mad, he was far too rational now.

The Phantom thought about this as he drank his coffee. He was not insane, certainly not, but that would just make it easier to play along and fool the doctors in believing he was cured. Being a free man again and never to be held responsible for what he had done - this sounded far too good to be true. But then, hadn't Christine asked him to trust her? Had she known about this all along, offering him a way out of this situation? Was this her plan? To get him out of the opera house, to get him another chance to live - to live with her? Hadn't she promised to visit him?

"I understand," he answered, "And I have to admit that I am really a bit... weird." He smirked. Even if he knew it would be for the best he could not bring himself to call himself insane. But there was a book he had read once - a book about how a criminal is not born but made by the circumstances he had lived in. The books author... He could barely hide his grin as he remembered the name of the author. Dr. Thomas Benevole. Was it this man with the blonde-white hair and the blue eyes? The man who looked like his hobby was eating? "Some even called me crazy," he continued as a new scheme began to form in his brain.

"I have to warn you that this treatment is untested," the doctor said uneasily, "And it might be very uncomfortable or even painful for you."

"What? Chains, bars, electric shock, whips, cold water, hunger and thirst?" the Phantom asked.

"No certainly not!" Dr. Benevole was shocked at the mere prospect of such barbaric treatment, "We would have lengthy talks about you and you will be confronted with your crimes, that will be most painful. But that is all."

"That's all? Just talking?" the Phantom could not believe his luck. "May I... have an instrument?"

"Of course. We will teach you to live a normal life so everything that helps with that is good. Which instrument..."

"An organ, a piano, a harp, a violin, a cello, drums, a trumpet, a spinet, a..." the Phantom interrupted, suddenly giving his best impression of an excited schoolboy.

"That is a bit too much. We can't afford this, but... there is a piano, we could have moved it to your room," the doctor answered, "And a violin. And of course over the time you might get other things. There is a library where you can lend books, if you like."

"So I would get a normal life there?"

"As normal as it can be under these circumstances. Surely you realize you will be a prisoner at first and the freedom you get depends on your progress in the therapy."

"Will I be allowed to have visitors? Can I write letters?"

"Of course. Social interaction is very important and you need to keep whatever normal social contacts you have now, that would help your reintegration into society. But at first you have to understand that you will not be allowed to be alone in one room with someone who is not a doctor or a care assistant and any letters you write will be censored. If you reach a certain progress, safety measures will be abandoned one by one," the doctor promised.

The Phantom needed to close his eyes and hide his face in his hands so they would not see his relieve. Either this was an especially cruel trick to get him to confess or this was his fortunate day - the first one in his life. He would have to play along for some time, read many books about mental illness, especially those written by Benevole, to act the part of the recovering patient perfectly but then he would be able to get the doctors to declare him "cured" and he would be free again. He calculated this might take a few month, two or three, and then he could do whatever he liked, start a new life with Christine even. Why else would she have told him to trust her? This must have been her plan, to get him a clean record - he had never thought she would be that clever.

"Allright," he answered, trying to sound not too eager, "It seems I do not have much choice, do I?"

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _I know I am playing with the timeline. A treatment like that was not invented back then, but if ALW can place the plot of his musical in 1871 (when the opera was not finished and it was war) and his sequel LND ten years later in 1910 - then I can have a psychologist who tries to cure criminal insane in that time!_


	3. Pain

**Education of the Heart**

 **Pain**

The carriage reached a nice house in the woods, at least ten kilometers from the next village. It was a nice little chateau, and it was already prepared for the guests. The Phantom was allowed to walk with a walking stick, his leg still hurt, but he was in rather good mood, at least by his standards. He was sure this was just for a few month and then he would be back to Paris and Christine.

There was the Baron Dr. Thomas de Benevole, he was the one to work with him. That man had an exceptional optimistic character and good nature, this the Phantom could tell after spending hours with the man in that damned carriage. The masked man's stomach had not agreed with the painkillers he had been given and the bumping of the carriage had done the rest - he had asked the guards and the doctor to stop the carriage, he was going to be sick. The doctor had told the driver who had refused because they were not allowed to stop and give the prisoner a chance to escape. As if he would have been able to run, drugged and hurt as he was. And why would he run? When this was the perfect opportunity to clean his record once and for all in a few months?

But the carriage ride - when they had not stopped, he had tried to hold back, tried not to be sick, but it had been impossible. Only then had the guards - two of them in the carriage with him and the doctor, ten others on horses following behind - decided to allow the carriage to stop. And after that he had needed another hour until he was finished retching, the good doctor always at his side, trying to help him as best as he could under the circumstances. "Promise me - no medicine. No more medicine," the Phantom asked as they finally were driving again, this time at a much slower speed. The doctor had agreed with a friendly smile.

And now they were at the little new hospital-prison where he should be "cured" from an illness he strongly doubted he had. His problem was not his mind, his problem was his face and that would not be healed that easily. But he already imagined the way the managers would stare at him if he just walked into their office with a friendly smile - or most vicious grin, he knew himself - and tell them he was back and they would not be able to sue him for was healed and had a perfectly clean record.

And Christine - Christine would not run from him again, he would get a new chance to win her heart. Maybe he had been a bit too rush, he had frightened her. But now he could claim he had been ill but thanks to her he was cured. Of course she would like that. Was it the painkillers or this thought that made him feel so optimistic?

"Monsieur, what is your name?" the doctor asked again.

"I do not want to tell," the Phantom answered.

"But I can't call you Phantom, can I? What did others call you?"

"Bastard, filthy beast, freak, monster, murderer, madman - pick one!" the masked man snapped. He did not like telling anyone his name.

"I like your humor. No, you surely have a name? What was your fathers name?"

"Drunken brute - that's what mother called him. And he called her dirty whore." This was not one of the memories he cherished, but then - when had he ever had memories he could cherish except his lessons with Christine?

"Please, do not make it so hard on yourself. By telling me your name you give nothing away," the doctor asked as he showed him in the house, "After you were sick on my shoes I think I have a right to know your name?" If they had not been followed by guards and care assistants who looked rather like gladiators, one could have assumed the doctor was showing a guest his home.

The masked man decided to play along. After all, he needed a statement in his favor to get what he wanted. "Erik," he mumbled, "My name is Erik. And that is all I will tell you. My poor mother - I can't disgrace her name by using it. Never." The doctor gave him a strange look but nodded and continued to show him around in the house.

The first floor was the public one, it looked like in any other house. A library, a salon, a kitchen and a room for the servants, a dining room plus an office for the doctor. The first floor provided apartments for the doctors - one to treat the patient and one to supervise - and the care assistants. All male, Erik noticed to his dismay. Obviously they trusted him less than they claimed to do. The second floor would be for the patients, there were five apartments, but the staircase had a door with metal bars on both ends and the windows in the second floor were all barred. But without the bars and the extra doors the rooms looked like any normal apartment would. A livingroom, a bedroom and a small bathroom. No running water and the toilet was only a latrine. If he wanted a bath he would have to ask for it, then he would be given enough hot water to take a bath. Fine. Every apartment had a bell pull that rang a bell in the nurse's room. He had a stove and there was fire-wood. If he needed anything he would have to ring.

In the room with the windows to the south-east was a piano in the livingroom, that was to be Erik's. "Of course you can change the furniture and the wall paint if you wish to," the doctor said, "Since this is your new home you might as well make yourself comfortable."

"Can I have paper and ink?"

"There must be some in the drawer," the doctor answered, "Why?"

"I have to write a letter," Erik answered.

The doctor shrugged: "Certainly, if it is not to Mademoiselle Daae."

"Why not?" Erik asked, furious that they had promised him he would be allowed to write and then forbid it as soon as demanded they kept their promise.

"It is too soon. When your mad obsession has turned to a normal feeling you may write her and see her, but it is too soon, we didn't even start..." The doctor was interrupted by a growl from Erik that sounded nothing like a human voice, it was like the growl of a tiger before it would go for the jugular.

"You promised!" Erik roared, his voice made the doctor back away. Never had he heard a human voice roar like a lion, making everyone who heard it grow cold with fear. No wonder this man had been able to fool people into believing into ghosts.

"I did," Benevole kept his voice calm and tried not to show fear, "And you will write to her and if she agrees to it you will see her. But it is too soon for a confrontation now."

Erik grabbed the doctor's throat and pushed him up against the next wall with a furious snarl, tightening his hands, ready to strangle the impertinent liar, but he was alone and there were then care assistants, two guards and another doctor. Together they managed to force him to let go of Dr. Benevole and pin him to the floor. Only then did Erik notice he had just made a terrible mistake. This was certainly no way to convince the doctor that he was sane. So he forced himself to stay perfectly still and held his breath, trying to imply he could not breathe with all these men holding him down. It worked, for Dr. Benevole instructed them to let go before he would suffocate.

Erik got to his feet slowly, breathing hard and coughing, dusting off his clothes. "I am deeply sorry, Monsieur. Usually I do not resort to violence," he said ashamed of himself and his temper.

"Don't worry," Dr. Benevole answered, still very pale and breathing hard, "I understand that this is very difficult for you to understand and I know that you are mentally ill. We wouldn't be here if you weren't. Please - let's sit down and have some tea and I'll explain it to you."

A few moments later both men were sitting in the library, drinking tea. Dr. Benevole was the only one who was absolutely convinced he was in no danger, everyone else expected to have to prevent another murder attempt any time now so they had to leave the doors open and knew the other men heard them.

Dr. Benevole started to explain: "It is very good to keep normal social interaction up and of course you should write to your family and friends - but it is too soon to contact Mademoiselle Daae. As far as I understood from the court files it was your obsession with her that caused rapid deterioration in your mental health. If you want to recover, you cannot afford to contact her before we even started your treatment, it would counter all our efforts. Can you understand this?"

Erik swallowed hard. This was not something he could accept. But anger would get him nowhere, with this doctor he needed another strategy. "Maybe the files are incorrect," he offered, his voice harsh, "Christine Daae is my fiancee."

"Fiancee?" the doctor raised his eyebrows, "According to the files she is one of your victims. Abduction and blackmail and the worst - murder attempt."

Erik shrugged. "As long as it helps her reputation I'd confess to anything. I would never harm her, I love her. But murder attempt?"

"The chandelier crash? She was close to where the chandelier came down, and it did not fall as if it was an accident."

"No, it was not," Erik answered, "But Christine was never in any danger. I made sure no one would be harmed."

"No one would be harmed?" Benevole was absolutely convinced that they were now in the midst of a therapy session. "The police report said 7 dead, 47 badly injured and more than 300 with light injuries." Erik shrugged and sipped his tea. It helped his stomach to drink the tea. He had known about these facts but it did not matter to him. No one he considered worth living had been harmed. "Do you agree that we have to work on this?" Dr. Benevole asked. Erik was tempted to say no. No one ever cared about anyone who was not his friend or relative, why should he? He was perfectly sane and had no need to change his opinion - and this was an opinion, not madness and certainly not even a character flaw. But he knew the good doctor would need to work with something, otherwise he could never claim Erik was cured, well then, give him something. Erik nodded and looked at the shelves. One shelf was full of literature. Good literature. Another one was full of books about arts, architecture and music. And one was filled with scientific literature, most of it medicine and of course psychiatry.

"May I borrow a book?" Erik asked and went to the shelf with the books about music, "I like to read when I cannot sleep at night. I read a lot." The doctor nodded and Erik picked twelve books, six literature, five music and arts, and one of the psychiatry books, written by Benevole about his theory that criminals could be reintegrated into society and criminal insane could be cured. He would memorize that one and hoped the doctor had not noticed which books exactly he took.

"You want to read all that tonight?" the doctor asked and raised his eyebrows.

"No, but I have a habit of reading a bit this and a bit that and never only one book from first to last page," Erik answered, surprised himself by how easily he could tell the truth in this. The doctor simply accepted this. "When will you start with my treatment?" Erik asked, he wanted to get this over with.

"We can start tomorrow," the doctor answered, "But please do not try to rush through it - this is no race. You need time to recover, the more you try to force it, the less progress you will make."

"A patient needs a lot of patience," Erik smirked. Of course he was no patient, he was already sane, but with the help of the good doctor's book he was sure he would be able to dedicate what he had to say and when. If he changed too soon the doctor would notice he was just acting and he would gain nothing.

Dinner was weird, for all of them, for Dr. Benevole had insisted that they would eat in the diningroom together. All of them, guards, care assistants, doctors and the patient. It should have been a normal dinner, but it was not. Erik had already taken a bath and changed his clothes. He was dressed as if he was going to the opera, the doctor noted to his dismay. He had made sure to get clothes for Erik and had hoped Erik would dress in a normal suit and not a black tuxedo, cape and hat. He looked far too much like the Phantom of the Opera - a role he should give up for his own sake. But the doctor did not commend on that. Let the patient adjust to the new situation first, never demand too much or you ruin the therapy.

Erik could barely eat. He had not taken the medicine and was feeling the pain in his leg as well as the irritation from the lack of painkillers. Not that he was addicted to them, not after only one week, but it was annoying not to have them for they surely had an effect on his mood. Better not take anything they gave him - he needed a clear head now to keep up the act. He needed to act the perfect patient to prove the doctor's theory. Every man is willing to believe something that proves him right and no doctor was above this human weakness. And of course he would write a letter to Christine, he already knew how he would do that.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik is not very cooperative as a patient. He is already back to cheating._


	4. Getting Acquainted

**Education of the Heart**

 **Getting Acquainted**

Erik would not have been Erik had he not broken the rules before he even knew rules existed in that hospital. The first night he just sneaked out of his room, went to the next village on foot - it was a long way and his leg still gave him much trouble but he had all night - and broken into the post office, stole a stamp, postmark the letter and leave it in the postbag the post carriage or post rider would fetch the next day. Then he returned to the little hospital for only one patient, sneaked back in his room, fixed the bars before the window again and went to bed.

Only to be woken up less than an hour later. He groaned. He had always had an irregular sleep-wake rhythm, but usually he slept at least from five in the morning to ten or eleven o'clock, sometimes even longer. But he got up to have breakfast with the doctor. Somehow the doctor seemed to be convinced that they should befriend each other he would play along.

"Do you always wear a tuxedo?" the doctor asked.

"Yes, why do you ask?" What difference did it make that he actually liked tuxedos?

"Was there nothing else to your liking?"

"Nothing that elegant. Is my dressing part of the therapy?" He would never know if the doctor was just trying to be friendly or if this was an analysis of sorts. When the doctor said nothing he became impatient and asked what they would do now. He wanted to do something.

"You are a bit too eager," the doctor disappointed him again, "You try to rush things, I need you to calm down before we start."

"I am calm!" It would have been more convincing if he hadn't yelled like that. Erik cleared his throat and said much friendlier: "Sorry. I did not sleep last night and usually I am not awake that early, that's all. Now, I assure you want to begin? I am willing to do whatever you tell me to. Anything."

They were sitting in the room that was considered to be Erik's livingroom. The doctor had decided it would provide more privacy than any other room, even at the risk of being locked in with a dangerous criminal insane man.

"Tell me about yourself for a start. Your biography, or do you want to tell me something else? We can talk about anything you feel the need to talk," the doctor started.

Erik had not yet read the book and decided it would be easier to talk about something no one could hold against him. Music. He started with an elaborate speech about music in general, his favorite composers, his own music and opera in general. And he kept up talking about nothing but music for the first week - until he had finished the book and was able to figure out a scheme how to behave and act the part of the poor mentally ill freak who wished for nothing but to recover and be accepted into normal society. His only problem that first week was to get up early, the care assistant who had to wake him up got more and more problems persuading him to get out of his bed. His nightly trips to the village and lack of sleep took their toll on him, especially with the barely healed wound in his left leg. He took care to use his walking stick and walk with a heavy limp, he wanted them to think he was unable to walk farther than the next room.

The doctor made sure to give him a few rules how to behave. Forbidden: Leaving the house - already broken. Stealing - already broken, he regularly stole stamps. Lying - already broken. Hurt someone - already broken. Uncensored contact with anyone outside - already broken. Now that he had already broken all rules before he had been told they existed Erik was convinced that he just had to be careful enough, then nothing would ever happen to him. And he would use the weekend to get the much needed sleep. His life was easy so far and he would have enjoyed the lengthy talks about music with the doctor. They were exactly how Erik liked a communication to be - him lecturing and the other one listening and asking questions now and then.

The second week Erik felt he had learned enough from the book to start with his act. It was like writing a monologue for theater - or a lengthy aria for an opera. He liked it and even got more books from the library to work out his leading role. It was so easy. He kept talking about something absolutely not connected to him - music, arts, architecture - and then insert little information he wanted the doctor to have to make him believe he would start to open up and came to trust his doctor.

It worked so far as everyone around Erik relaxed. No more violent aggression, rules being obeyed - at least no one knew different - and a man who had been declared mad behaving like the perfect gentlemen and offering to help everyone around with his work. Cooking? Of course he'd like to help. Cleaning the dishes? Certainly. Cleaning the windows? Of course, he was always willing to be helpful. He never refused any request and finally the guards and care assistants opened up to him and started treating him as human being and not as a dangerous beast.

That was when Dr. Benevole asked his supervising colleague if they would have to stop the experiment. The two doctors were sitting in their office that evening and knew their patient was playing cards - and cheating - with the guards.

"I think he's acting," Benevole said, "He tries to convince us that he is sane and no threat to anyone. I do not believe his 'I'm so grateful for any company, I've been so lonely' reasoning. He improves in his behavior each day, but no one can make that much progress in just one week. Did you notice that he even reads my books? Clever fellow, he even misplaces other books so no one should see which books he really gets. I think we are now watching a clever impromtu show called 'poor misunderstood freak - he's good at heart and had only been driven to murder by the cruel world which shunned him'. I do not believe one word he says."

The supervisor shrugged: "What did you expect? He thinks himself perfectly sane and us fools for falling for his scheme. I'm afraid this will be much more of a challenge because he's really clever. This Giry woman is absolutely correct, he's a versatile genius, but he fails to see that mental illness and intelligence are no contradiction."

Benevole laughed: "If it would have been easy we wouldn't be doing this experiment. We needed someone who would make it hard on us or it would be worthless." With that he turned to the post they had received. There was a letter to their patient from Christine Daae. Without thinking twice the doctor opened the letter and read:

" _Dear Erik,_

 _it is really weird that I learn your name only now. Thank you very much for your letters, they arrive almost daily. I am so happy that you feel better now. You see, when they persuaded me to participate in their scheme to catch you they promised they would not imprison you but help you. But I felt so guilty for my betrayal. It is so good to read that you are not chained up and kept behind bars, that they allow you a nearly normal life. That is what you always wanted, isn't it? A normal life._

 _The way you describe that hospital it is like a health resort or a summer retreat. I am so happy that you like the therapy and that it helps you so much. Of course I'd like to visit you, but right now we are rehearsing Don Giovanni and I am to sing Zerlina - I can't leave just yet. But I think I can arrange a visit in two weeks time._ "

The doctors stared at each other.

"He's sending her letters? How?" Benevole asked and the other one shrugged. They had been sure to have a guard stand at the corridor each night and each day Erik was kept busy from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. How could he send letters to this girl? And she did not write back as if she was his victim, no, she wrote like a worried friend. The rest of the letter was about the opera and what was going on.

"God, she's keeping him up to date about the opera!" Benevole groaned, "I can't believe it. I've never heard madness was infecting but right now I am willing to believe it. Here: ' _Carlotta is doing her best to tyrannise everyone, some say it was a better working atmosphere when the Phantom was here, among them Madame Giry. She told me to present her compliments. She will write you as soon as possible. Maybe you could write to Meg as well? She wants a letter from you so badly, she asks me every day about it. And Jammes and Jacqueline and Francine and Suzette and Cecilie too. They all would like to meet you._ ' What is that bastard? A celebrity?"

"We better stop this before it gets out of hand. Who knows if he already got letters? Is he manipulative enough to get one of the guards or care workers to smuggle the letters?" the elder doctor asked, but when Benevole wanted to get up, he held him back: "Stop it, my friend, you are upset yourself. If you are angry with him, this won't work. Don't get emotionally involved."

Benevole sat down again. "You are right," he sighed, "I guess I better confront him tomorrow over breakfast."

* * *

The next morning Dr. Benevole came late for breakfast. He had already told the care workers and guards to be on alert for he would have to provoke the patient and they would have to expect a violent reaction. Erik noticed immediately that something was not right. He was good in observing and knew they were tensed up. Something was wrong, but what? He sat down, grumpy as every morning, and reached for the coffee.

That moment Dr. Benevole came in. "Do you expect to receive a letter?" he asked dryly and put Christine's letter onto the table. Before anyone could react Erik snatched it and it seemed to disappear.

"Erik, we talked about this. No contact to Christine Daae. You are trying to fool us, aren't you? This is exactly what might get you back to prison and stand trial," Dr. Benevole went on sternly.

Erik sat there, staring at his hands, trying to figure out how this could have happened. Each night he went to the post office and each night he would send a letter and take the letters he got from Christine with him so they would not be delivered by the postman. How could it happen that he had overlooked this letter? Then it hit him - she must have written two letters that day! The one that the doctor had found and the one he had taken. The one where she told him of her problems with the role of Zerlina and how much she missed her tutor and her fear she would fail without him. He could not think of another way this mistake might have happened.

"Did you listen to me?" Dr. Benevole asked, "If I write in my statement to Clemenceau that you turned out to be just another criminal you go back to prison and face trial for murder, murder attempt, blackmail and kidnapping. This would get you either the Guillotine or life sentence in a prison for the most dangerous criminals. Do you want that?"

Erik's head came up and for the first time Dr. Benevole was sure to see real fear in his eyes. The first real emotion he expressed in two weeks. "No, please don't. I... I'm sorry for the letter, it was just this one..."

"If we search your room, would we find more of them?"

Erik debated with himself if he could take the risk. He had not been able to burn the letters, he loved Christine too much, he could not bring himself to burn them so he had hidden them in a loose board in his wooden bedstead. He was not sure they would never find them. Could he take that risk?

"Search his room!" Dr. Benevole ordered, he was sure enough they would find more letters, "And prepare him to depart for Paris!"

"No! Wait!" Erik jumped to his feet, "No! Please don't!"

"Too late," Dr. Benevole said, seemingly unmoved, and turned to walk away.

"No!" Erik grabbed his shoulder to hold him back. "No! Please... I made a mistake. If... if I tell you how I send them, will you reconsider?"

"As he said, too late. We told you this depends on your cooperation. No cooperation, no experiment - you go back to prison," the supervising doctor cut in.

"No! Please! I'll cooperate, I promise. The therapy is such a good thing, it helps me so much..."

"HA!" Doctor Benevole exclaimed, "It helps nothing for you do not even participate. You are a really good actor, but you cheat. No, Monsieur, you are out. We'll find another patient who is willing to accept help."

Erik knew when he had lost. He had underestimated the doctor. That man was no fool. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Yes, I did cheat. From the beginning. I'm sorry. Please - I will tell you everything, but please do not stop this - it is my chance to be free, to have a normal life and to marry my fiancee. Please."

"I don't buy that," Dr. Benevole said, "You are too good an actor."

"Morriere. My name is Erik Morriere," Erik whispered.

Dr. Benevole turned back to him and looked at the face - the part that was not covered by a mask. "One last chance," he said "I shall give you **one** last chance. Understood?"

Erik nodded and stared at the carpet. He could try to run, but would he be able to outrun them now, in broad daylight in an area he didn't know well? And how many of them would be after him?

"After breakfast in my office," Benevole said and left.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _It seems Erik has underestimated the doctor._


	5. Home Truth

**Education of the Heart**

 **Home Truth**

Dr. Benevole sat in his chair behind his desk, Erik in an armchair on the other side. The masked man played nervously with his elegant walking cane.

"Monsieur Morriere," the doctor began, "I tried to make this as easy as possible for you. But now I have to decide if you are mentally ill and willing to accept treatment or if you are a normal criminal who should be locked up in a prison cell."

Erik nodded, staring at the window, calculating he would make it out of the window and into the forest before they would catch him. He might be able to find a hiding place and stay hidden, if they did not have hounds. Did they have hounds? He had not seen any but he was not sure there were none.

The doctor studied him for a while, then said: "The truth, Monsieur. Tell me the truth. I promise this is under confidentiality and will not be written in my report. Are you mentally ill and willing to refine yourself to get cured?"

Erik took a deep breath and decided to say the truth. "I am not mentally ill. I am perfectly sane."

"No?" Dr. Benevole raised one eyebrow and leaned forward angrily raising his voice: "You are perfectly sane? You live in the catacombs beneath the opera house, you pretend to be a ghost and an angel, the only way of social contact is through threats and kidnapping, you drop the chandelier **after** the managers did all you wanted - Christine sang the leading role in Il Muto - and kill 7 people, risk the death of many more - and you call **that** perfectly sane?"

He had a point, but Erik could not accept that. He lost his temper, jumped to his feet and yelled at the doctor, pounding his fists against the desk in a futile attempt to release his fury: " **Yes** , I call that **perfectly sane**! Do you think I **like** living in that dark and moist lair? Do you think I **enjoy** threatening people? Do you really think I would do that if I had any other choice in my life?" He straightened up and took off his mask and wig, exposing his deformity to the doctor for the first time. " **This** is my real problem!" he roared, gesturing to his face, "This face that everyone hates and loathes and fears - that **cursed** face is the reason why I am **forced** to live in the darkness and the shadows, to live like a rat in the sewers!" He flung mask and wig across the room, unable to care where they landed. "The only illness I ever suffered is this... this horrible defacement. If it wasn't for **this** I would be a normal man. If it wasn't for **this** she would love me." He took a shuddering breath as tears welled up in his eyes, his rage spent, leaving behind the horrible feeling of defeat and hopelessness. Erik whispered: "If you can't cure **this** there is no hope for me!" and turned away to lean his hands at the windowsill, his back hunched, his head down. He stared at the grass and the trees outside and the beautiful sunshine as he desperately fought for regain his composure, although he would have preferred to say to retain his composure.

Thomas Benevole stared at him for a while and thought about what had happened. This had been the first time his patient had shown real feelings and spoken the truth. The doctor was now convinced that the man before him was in desperate need for help, if he accepted the term "mental illness" or not. He got to his feet and approached the deformed man slowly, careful to keep the distance that would not startle the other one. "I believe you," he said.

Erik turned his head but held onto the windowsill, shifting his weight so it rested only on his right leg. "Very helpful," he mocked.

"Did you ever consider surgery?" the doctor asked, "I know that surgery is not able to give you a normal face but it could improve your looks."

"What do you think I have done all my life?" Erik snapped bitterly, "Of course I thought about surgery. But all doctors say there is the risk that surgery would make everything **worse**. If I would only risk my life, I would already have had that surgery long ago. Until today not one surgeon told me he could fix my face without the risk of making it worse - I cannot life with **this** face, I do not dare to even think of living with an even worse deformation."

"There are others who suffer deformations," the doctor tried a new approach.

"Really? And does society accept them? **No**! The only society I can ever hope to fit in is as **freak** in a **freakshow** , an animal in a travelling zoo. I've been there, I know what it is like. Can you imagine sitting in a **cage** all day long being stared at, mocked and humiliated every day? Have you ever suffered the degradation of being stripped of all dignity and brought even **lower** than any **animal**?" Erik spat, his voice trembling with rage and bitterness.

"I do not," Dr. Benevole answered softly. He was glad that Erik opened up to him now and was sure he finally saw the real Erik and not some clever acting. "And I hope I will never do. But there are others too who suffered like you and they did not become murderers."

"You talk about things you know **nothing** about," Erik retorted.

"Then **tell me** , Monsieur Morriere, tell me and I promise I will do my best to understand."

"Why should I? It changes nothing. No understanding in the world can lift my curse." The deformed man looked defeated, hopeless, broken.

"Maybe not. But it certainly will change whatever report I will give Clemenceau," the doctor promised.

Erik took a shuddering breath and wiped away the tears from his eyes. He was ashamed of his weakness and desperately needed to control himself. He would not show any more weakness. "Very well, you win, Doctor," he sighed, "I will tell you."

They sat down again, but this time Erik sat in the armchair and the doctor took another chair to be closer to him. Erik chewed on his lips until he tasted blood but he could not bring himself to tell a stranger of the horrors he had endured. He could not. They sat there, Erik staring at the desk and the doctor looking at him, in silence until a knock on the door startled them.

"Lunch will be ready in ten minutes," a care worker reminded them. Erik got up with a sigh and put on his mask and wig, using the glass of a painting at the wall as mirror to check if he was properly covered.

"Nice talk," Erik commended dryly.

"Yes, you are right. I think this was a very successful session," the doctor confirmed seriously but Erik wondered if he was just being mocked.

* * *

When Erik kept silent in the afternoon too Dr. Benevole was forced to start the conversation: "I know that there had been a report to the police by a woman that the owner of the travelling fair kept a man prisoner in a cage. There had been an investigation but according to the file you told them that you were there of your own free will and the cage was just for show so they could do nothing."

Erik chuckled bitterly. "Yes, my **own free will**. Did you really think a cage could have held me that long if I had really tried to escape?"

"Since I know you escaped almost every night from us I think you might have had your chances," the doctor answered diplomatically.

"You bet!" Erik snapped and started chewing on his finger nails, "I was... hell, yes, I was mentally ill that time. There, I've said it. Are you satisfied?" When the doctor did not answer he went on awkwardly, staring at the grandfather clock on the wall. "When I left Persia I was... lost. I just wanted to forget but I could not. First I started drinking, but soon I found it was not enough to relieve the pain, I turned to opium and then, when this too was not enough to relieve the pain any longer, morphine. But even that relieve was a treacherous one and very brief. Then instead of getting rid of my demons I found I had gained another one and a very persistent one. I tried to stop, but I could not. It was too late and I was so desperate that when I had nothing else to sell I sold myself. Yes, that is the truth. I sold myself because that was the only way to generate enough income to buy the drugs." He fell silent and continued to chew on his nails.

"Would you care for something else to chew on?" Dr. Benevole suggested uneasily.

"Hmmm?" Erik shrugged and noticed he was biting his nails. He hadn't noticed before. "Yes, I'd like tea."

"What about a piece of cake?"

Erik eyed the doctor, and made a point in staring at his round stomach. "I think it is you who wants the cake, you can order two and have mine," Erik answered and grinned. The doctor took this good-natured and was not offended. On the contrary, he understood that his patient needed to point out his own character flaws so he would not feel so bad himself. If he needed this, the doctor would have to endure it.

Half an hour later they continued over tea and cake - Erik made a point in not eating anything, not even using sugar in his tea. He rather liked that he was able to control himself when the doctor was clearly too big and should lose some weight did not stop himself from eating that much sweets.

"How did you escape?" the doctor asked.

"As soon as I found the strength to give up the drugs there was no way they could hold me," Erik answered cryptically.

"That is not much of an answer," the doctor grumbled and started on the second piece of cake. He would need all mental strength he could get with this patient.

Erik shook his head. "There was someone who remembered me of who I had been before I ended up in the gutter. The fair's owner boasted that I was a magician, an architect, a designer, an inventor, a composer. That was true, all of it. I had been an architect for the Shah of Persia, I guess that was the height of my career as architect. And then I had fallen so low as to prostitute myself for drugs - not literally, of course! I was sitting in that cage, my mind so hazed with drugs I barely noticed the crowds staring at me, no longer caring if I lived or died, all I wanted was my drug induced trance. A man called them liars, told them he did not believe I was a scholar when all he saw was a dumb animal. He demanded his money back and the people from the fair were afraid other's might do that too so they made him a deal - I would prove my skills and he would pay hundredfold the entrance fee. Well, first they had to get me sober enough to do anything. They withheld my drugs until I was angry and up on my feet, but not yet suffering from withdrawal. The man came back and we sat in one of the tents at the table and he told me to draw something, then he would believe me, but he warned me that he was an architect and I better confess now if I was not able to draw a blueprint."

Erik helped himself to another cup of tea. "I asked what he wanted me to do and he told me of a problem with one of his designs he was currently working at. I sketched how I would solve it. Another problem, another sketch. Until my hands were shaking so hard I could no longer hold a pencil and almost crawled to the man who kept my supply of drugs. I was in so much pain I would have done anything just to get the drugs. That was when my visitor spat in my face and told me how he despised me for doing this to myself, for abasing myself for that vice when I could be so much more." Erik smirked. It was a painful memory but somehow he felt he needed to tell the doctor or that man would never understand why he considered himself sane now after what he had done to himself.

"He offered me help and a job. I accepted and at first he just gave me a room where I had to endure the withdrawal alone, no doctor, no nurse, no help," Erik went on.

"You did **what**? Completely alone?" Dr. Benevole was shocked. He had not heard of many drug addicts who could do a withdrawal alone without anyone to help them.

"I had no choice," Erik shrugged indifferently, "I have always been on my own, all my life, I never expected anything else. I was still a shaking wreck when he offered me a job on his team - as technical drawer. At first I was furious, I had been the favorite architect of the Shah of Persia and now I should be nothing but a technical drawer? If I had not been that ill I would have strangled him then and there. So I just accepted for I was in desperate need of money. You see, the contract I had signed in the fair was for five years and included high punitive damages if I left sooner. I was broke and had nothing but the rags on my back. In retrospect I have to admit that I was better off as one of the overlooked assistants in the background, even if so many designs were my idea and not his. He would never have won that contest without my help. But honor to whom honor is due, the main design was his idea. I was more the one for the details and sometimes lost myself in details so much I absolutely lost track of the general issues."

"Right now you sound really perfectly sane to me," Dr. Benevole said as Erik fell silent again.

Erik chuckled. "It was my last attempt to build up some sort of life. That man was not a bad man, of course I never got a fair share for my work, but... No, that was not the worst. It was... when the workers turned against me. When they formed a mob, took away my mask and then went to see if my deformation was only on my face or if I have other deformations as well. I fought them, tried to escape, but I was alone with no one to help me. Yes, that is what happens to someone who is deformed. It happened during my childhood, my adolescence, as an adult - it happened no matter where I was and how hard I tried to avoid it."

"How do you feel speaking about this?" Dr. Benevole cut in.

Erik yelled: "Do you tell me that I should be ashamed of my inability to protect myself?" He was furious. This doctor was the same like everyone else - blaming him for something that surely was not his fault. Blaming him for being the victim, as if it was his fault when he had suffered so much abuse at their hands.

"No, you misunderstand!" Dr. Benevole replied hastily, "I do not blame you for anything. I just wanted to know if it is painful to you to talk about these happenings?"

Erik had to think about this. "Actually... I am surprised myself that I am capable to tell these things at all. But you are a doctor, aren't you? This is exactly what you wanted me to do, didn't you?"

"Yes, and you are doing fine," the doctor answered.

Erik snorted. "I do not need anyone's approval in anything!" He snapped irritated at what had been intended a compliment. "I know perfectly well that I have a superior mind - if I had not been cursed with that face I could have been anything I chose to be. Anything!" When the doctor showed no reaction Erik jumped to his feet and threw his teacup at the wall, it shattered but he did not care, on the contrary, with one swift movement of his arm he cleared the table, sending the to shatter meters away.

Dr. Benevole understood that he needed to stop the session now or his patient would not be able to control himself any longer. He got up and said calmly: "Maybe we both need a break?"

Erik glared at him. "You need more cake to stuff your already fat potbelly," he sneered. He felt inferior and needed to balance the scale again. "Eating can be an addiction too, you know. There are colleagues of yours whom you might want to consult on that issue. At least **I** was able to overcome addiction alone, without anyone to help me, and with sheer willpower am able to remain clean." He nodded to himself with satisfaction as he saw that he had managed to hurt the doctor.

Dr. Benevole returned to his place behind the desk and sat down, studying Erik who became more and more nervous. He started pacing up and down, forgetting that he should be playing the invalid and use a stick. The doctor's eyes widened at a certain realization.

"You walked to the village at night on foot," the doctor gasped, "At night through the wood with your injured leg."

Erik stopped pacing and shrugged. "Of course. What else could I do? I have been through much worse and never been able to just lay down and enjoy being nursed."

"I've never seen anyone with such high endurance for pain," the doctor admitted and shook his head. Only one week after being shot in the leg this man had been able to walk kilometers. If he had not come back they would never have found him because they would have never assumed he would make it to the next village in one night - but he had been able to walk there and back each night.

Erik cocked his head and smiled. "Maybe no one else has ever suffered like I do. A bit of physical discomfort is nothing that would bother me. Do you understand now why I was forced to live like I do... did? That I had no choice?"

"Maybe I need further explanation," the doctor tried diplomatically, "Why didn't you go to the police after they beat you up?"

"I couldn't. I crawled away and hid like any wounded animal would have done. Before I could go to the police they did - they went there and told them they had caught me raping a woman and therefore fought me. I was a wanted man now, I could do nothing but hide," Erik sighed, then, anticipating the next question: "I am no rapist. I may not be an exceptional virtuous man, but I am no rapist. But who would believe me? When I was alone against so many men? Who would believe a deformed creature, a freak of nature, that he would never rape a woman?"

Dr. Benevole nodded. Now he understood much better what had driven that man to hide himself in the cellars of the opera house. He understood how this man's mind had been twisted by what had been done to him, but he was more than ever convinced that he was dealing with a mentally ill man who needed help - but that man would not accept help. He would fight him every single step of that way, it would be a very long and unexpected painful way - if he could ever be cured at all. "I do believe you," he said and he meant it. If that man had been a rapist he would have had plenty opportunities do kidnap girls in the opera - yet he had not. Even Christine, whom he had kidnapped, seemed to be fond of him, she would not be had he raped her.

Erik snorted. "Do you expect me to be grateful? Would it be appropriate that I throw myself at your feet in my thankfulness that you honored me with believing what is nothing but the truth?"

"Monsieur, it has been a long day and I understand that we both need a break now, please, do not make this any more personal than it has to be," the doctor tried to pacify him but his words had the opposite effect, Erik lost control of his temper and attacked. He had not counted on the doctor to roll with the blow and they landed on the floor. Erik was surprised to find the doctor a much stronger man than he had expected him to be - and very well able to defend himself. But it did not last long, for the doctor had made sure there were enough care workers nearby to help him should the need arise. They were able to pull Erik away from him before he could strangle the heavier man.

Erik soon stopped struggling as they held him, forced himself to relax and said with his most seductive voice: "O please, **gentlemen** , we are a bit too old for that game, aren't we?" At the doctors signal they let go of him and Erik got up, keeping a straight face despite his inner turmoil. He was angry with himself and wondered how the doctor could provoke him so easily to behave exactly like the madman everyone thought he was.

"I apologize," he said with a formal bow, "Maybe I better go to bed now, I am very tired."

As soon as Erik was out of sight the doctor ordered two guards on the floor before his door and two directly beneath the window. "I think he's a very agile climber and somehow must have been able to screw off the bars at his window."

 _XXXXXXX_

 _Historical background: There was plastic surgery since 1793, the first rhinoplastic was done 1814. Of course plastic surgery was a bit experimental and certainly not the level it is today. So in the time 1880 to 1900 plastic surgery was already known and I think Erik must have had some reason why he did not even try. Especially as his biography is described in the Musical: He has been in Persia before he was put on display in a freakshow. Which leaves the next question - how could they cage him when he was an adult with all his skills already there? There were many "freaks" that time and - even if their life was really rough - some made a small fortune (that's the reason why they agreed to put themselves on display. My next question was: Erik was able to earn his lifelihood in a normal job and he knew that. So why would he agree to become a member of a freakshow? The answer I came up was that he was in desperate need of money and I know that many drug addicted prostitute themselves to get enough money for their drugs - in Erik's case he might be willing to put himself on display._

 _The problem with Erik is - when he lowers his metal shields and allows himself to open up he is easily angered and he loses his temper easily._


	6. Two Sides of the Same Coin

**Education of the Heart**

 **Two Sides of the Same Coin**

Dr. Benevole was surprised how easily Erik seemed to accept that he was not allowed to write to Christine and there were guards not only on the corridor but in the garden beneath his window as well. It was a bit too easy and from what he knew the girl was fond of her kidnapper so if the letters suddenly stopped, she might have tried to contact him or the magistrate by now. When nothing like that happened, he and his supervisor discussed that it might me necessary to ask this girl if she knew what she was doing. Erik claimed she was his fiancee - but there were rumors that she was the fiancee of the Vicomte de Changny. All three of them claimed before the magistrate that Erik had kidnapped her against her will - and yet she was keeping some sort of weird correspondence as if he was her penfriend. Did she know that she was encouraging him to pursue her and in his fantasies that she was his future bride? It would be best to talk to her and explain to her just how counteracting her correspondence was with Erik's treatment.

Dr. Benevole told everyone in the house he had some business to do in Paris and would be absent for one day. The guards and male nurses were not happy since the doctor was the only one who could talk their prisoner aka patient out of his blinding fury if he was enraged. "If he's not kept busy 24 hours a day he's up to mischief," the supervising doctor agreed, "But we need to keep him occupied."

So Dr. Benevole told Erik that it would be a good idea to do something useful. Erik agreed eagerly, he was getting bored anyways and did not like to talk about himself. "You see, if you are to reintegrate into society, you need something to earn your livelihood. Since you are a musician, maybe you could compose something? A piano concert for example? If it is to be published you might earn some money."

Erik lifted his visible eyebrow and asked with a sly smile: "And what do I do in the afternoon?" Watching the doctor's face fall he chuckled: "Just a joke. Even I can't write a piano concert in two hours time. But you really fell for it, didn't you?"

* * *

Dr. Benevole arrived in Paris shortly before noon and asked at the Opera where he would find Christine Daae. She had rhinitis and was at home that day but they gave him the address when he said he was a doctor. He did not want them to know why he really wanted to see her so he pretended to be send to care for her. The managers were not surprised, they thought the Vicomte must have send a doctor, but they thought it really excessive to call a doctor for a little cold.

Christine was alone at home, her maid was shopping.

"Mademoiselle Daae?" Dr. Benevole asked as she opened the door: "My name is Dr. Thomas Benevole, I am here on behalf of Erik - I am his doctor in charge and need to ask you a few questions. May I come in?"

Christine eagerly invited him in and he noticed that she lived in a small, tidy flat. The livingroom was nicely decorated and there was a small upright piano. Christine went to the kitchen to make some tea, then they sat in the armchairs. Dr. Benevole observed that Christine was rather relaxed and did not seem to be surprised or troubled by his visit.

"How is Erik?" she asked with a friendly smile.

Not an easy question to answer. He couldn't tell her that the patient was still denying that he needed any help at all, making it impossible to help him. So he decided to answer: "I think he is making progress..."

"Really? How wonderful! I want to thank you, Monsieur, for helping him so much. Nearly every day he writes me and tells me that he likes what you are doing very much, he's reading all your books and they help him to understand that he has to do some things he's afraid of or that are really painful for him, but he has to comply to get well again. He's dreaming of being able to live a normal life."

"He writes you?" the doctor asked, not really surprised.

"O yes, and I write back. Mostly I write about music and the opera. You see - music is his life. To be cut off from it must be difficult," Christine answered.

"He has a piano," Dr. Benevole answered, "Right now he is composing." He wondered what Erik had written to this girl. "Mademoiselle, please forgive the indiscreet questions I am going to ask you - I need to know your way of looking at things."

"Of course, please ask," the young woman said, "I'm glad if I can help."

"Yes... that is one thing I do not understand, Mademoiselle. You are his victim. He kidnapped you and threatened you, even blackmailed you - and yet you want to help him and keep contact with him. Why?"

Christine sighed. "That is not easy to answer. You see - he was... How do I tell this without being send to an asylum myself? I... I was so lonely after my father's death. I was just a chorus girl, nothing more, and... This is really silly, I know, but my father had always promised that he would send me the Angel of Music when he was in heaven." She blushed and fidged around in her chair, uneasily playing with her napkin.

"Go on..." the doctor encouraged her.

"Please do not think I am utterly mad!" she exclaimed a bit frightened, "But one night I heard an angelic voice singing to me. I asked if he was the angel my father had promised and he said yes and that he was going to teach me."

"That was Erik?"

"I did not know then. You see, I was alone in my dressing room, there was no one. His voice - have you ever heard him singing? The voice was surely angelic and he knew things about me I had never told him. And then he told me to take over for Carlotta in Hannibal. I did not understand then, but a piece of the set fell and she refused to sing and I took over..."

"If read the critics," the doctor answered, "But I am sorry to admit that I was not there."

"During the lessons he convinced me that he was really an angel and I did believe him. Until the mirror opened and I first saw him. I did not resist him - I was... I do not know... confused, scared, and did not dare to say no. He sang to me. I guess it was a song he himself had written just for me and there was so much warmth and comfort and love in his voice. It made me feel drawn to him. So when I woke the next morning I wanted to know who he was, the man who had fooled me and pretended to be an angel. I was angry with him and felt drawn to him all the same." She fell silent. Dr. Benevole realized that the kidnapping had not been violent as he had imagined it. There were doctors who claimed that being seduced was even worse than being raped for a woman and would leave a worse traumatisation.

"I am a doctor, a psychiatrist. Mademoiselle, you can tell me everything without being ashamed or afraid," he encouraged her, "I am really sorry but I have to ask you now - did he **touch** you?"

"What? **No**! Erik was a gentleman!" Christine exclaimed angrily, defending Erik. The doctor believed her. She did not behave like a woman who had suffered sexual harassment.

"That confirms what he told me," Dr. Benevole said, "Please continue."

"I unmasked him," she said, her voice low and pained, "Have you seen his face? It is horrible! And even more terrifying when he is angry - and he was angry, so very angry!"

"Did he hurt you?" Dr. Benevole asked, he knew Erik's temper first-hand.

"No, he just yelled at me," Christine answered, "And he told me that I would never be free - but he changed his mind soon, telling me that he loved me and wanted my love. He let me go free."

"You returned to the opera?"

"Yes. I returned and the chaos became worse. Carlotta refused to step down and let me sing in Il Muto," she fell silent again.

"The chandelier crash?" Dr. Benevole asked. All of Paris had read about the chandelier crash.

"He made Carlotta croak like a toad, he killed the stagehand and the chandelier fell after the final. Then the Phantom - I mean, Erik - disappeared for about half a year. Everyone thought he had left for good, but at the masked ball he... he created quite a scene. He was jealous for I am engaged to the Vicomte de Chagny and wore a necklace with his ring."

"So you are engaged to the Vicomte?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

Dr. Benevole sighed. This was worse than he had expected. "Because Erik thinks you are engaged to **him**."

"O" Christine whispered "O no."

"Yes, 'o no' was my first reaction to his statement as well," Dr. Benevole told her, "And writing him letters only encourages him in his delusion. He thinks that as soon as he is a free man you are going to marry him."

Christine paled and looked as if she might faint any moment now. "I never agreed to marry him!" she exclaimed horrified, "He never even proposed to me."

"He thinks you love him, that's all he needs to know," Dr. Benevole explained.

Christine thought about that and shook her head sadly. "He's not completely wrong in that, you know. During those singing lessons I... yes, I thought I loved him. But I loved the illusion he had created and when I got to know the real man behind that illusion, I was scared and at the same time couldn't help pity him. He's so lonely, suffered so much... how could I not pity him?"

"If you describe your feelings for him," Dr. Benevole asked cautiously, "What would he be if he was a relative or yours?"

Christine did not understand. She knew she had no living relatives. The doctor explained it and finally she took much time to think about it.

"My godfather, I think," she answered, "A fatherly friend. That is why I write him - I feel guilty for betraying him and I hope you can cure him. I thought my letters to him would encourage him to... do whatever he has to do to recover."

"Your letters have the opposite effect - they fuel his delusions!" Dr. Benevole grumbled, a bit more angrily than he had intended to, "And what is that nonsense about the corps de ballet wanting to meet him?"

"I didn't know that!" Christine defended herself, "His letters were so... normal. Just like a uncle writes his niece. I thought..."

"He's a master at deceiving, isn't he?" Dr. Benevole sighed, "Now, about the ballet girls...?"

Christine smiled: "They always were excited that a ghost was in the opera. You see, they loved to be scared by him, if one happened to have seen him - or just made it up - they would talk about nothing else for weeks. Some said he's an evil spirit, others said he's a friendly spirit who helps those who respect him. You see, he convinced Monsieur Lefevre to make her leader of the row."

"He **convinced** the manager?" Dr. Benevole asked.

Christine shrugged: "Monsieur Lefevre did everything the ghost asked at that time. I have no idea how Erik accomplished that."

Dr. Benevole sighed. This was even more complicated that he had anticipated. This was not just one madman who somehow played his crazy games - this madman had somehow managed to get the entire staff of the Opera Populaire to join him in his delusions! And he could very well imagine that some even did benefit from the Phantom's reign of terror. Of course the girls would now be excited to meet the dreaded Phantom in person - as long as he was behind bars. But that would not happen. A criminal - even a famous one - is not an exhibit in a show.

"Mademoiselle, I have to ask you to stop corresponding with Erik. He's not ready to have a normal friendship with you. Either you are willing to marry him or you better not encourage his hopes," he took a deep breath, "I did not want to do this so soon, but you have to tell him that you are not willing to marry him and all he can hope for is being your fatherly friend. But I have to warn you - he is not ready for such a confrontation now. He's far too unstable. He'll react violently and maybe we will have to chain him up and keep him immobilized so he can't hurt himself. Please keep in mind that I really wish to cure him and it is for his own best - even if he fails to see it then."

"I can't break his heart," Christine answered, torn between her love for Raoul and that feeling she had for Erik - it was some sort of love too, but another kind of love.

"Mademoiselle, at least write him a letter that he should concentrate on his therapy now and stop writing letters to you. We can postpone the confrontation to when he is strong enough to stand it."

It was odd to hear that Erik would not be able to stand a meeting with her, but considering what she would have to tell him she had to agree to the doctor that it would be better not to interfere in whatever he had in mind to help Erik. "Whatever is necessary to help him," she answered and Dr. Benevole considered having a colleague contact her and taking care of her. Birds of a feather flock together. She was as crazy as Erik was - maybe that was what had attracted him to her? That he somehow sensed her mental instability and took advantage of her? Angel of Music - no one else in Paris would have fallen for that nonsense! But a girl already mad with grief and already delusional could easily fall for such a cruel trick.

The letter was short and read:  
" _Dear Erik,_  
 _I am sorry, but our correspondence has to stop for now. You spend too much time writing to me - better concentrate on your therapy and when you are better maybe we can meet again. But for now, please, try not to think of me and try to get well._  
 _Yours, Christine_ "

Dr. Benevole sighed heavily. This letter might really serve to encourage Erik to finally accept help - but the same time would fuel his delusion that Christine was his fiancee. He anticipated a grave relapse when Erik would finally learn that it was nothing but an illusion.

* * *

When the carriage approached the small hospital in the woods, the driver called out to Dr. Benevole if he should stop. The doctor looked out of the window and saw a very familiar figure having a nice stroll beside the street, it was Erik. Erik even approached the carriage and climbed inside uninvited, nearly giving the doctor a heart attack.

"Good evening, Monsieur. Can you give me a ride? My leg gives me trouble again..." Erik stated cheerfully.

Dr. Benevole gasped for air and tried to clear his head. There was the patient, who should be in his room, heavily guarded without any way to escape. He studied Erik closely and noticed that the masked man wore a brown frock-coat and brown trousers and a black hat. His shoes were full of mud and grass, he must have cut across the country. He had his walking cane and a brown leather bag the doctor recognized as his own.

"What are you doing here?" the doctor asked as soon as he found his voice again.

"Sketching. Care to see?" Erik opened the bag and took out a sketch block, which he handed to the doctor. Dr. Benevole shuddered as he noticed that in the bag was a knife from the kitchen. Of course - Erik had helped with the dishes! What else had this man stolen? The doctor studied the sketches. They showed a wolf mother and two pups.

"These are good," he said, his voice shaking.

"Thank you. I discovered the den a few nights ago. The mother is wounded but does not allow me to tend to her wounds - at least I can bring them food."

"You... you... **what**?" Dr. Benevole stammered, even more frightened.

"I help them. Isn't that what I am supposed to do? Learning empathy?" Erik asked and the doctor couldn't decide if his patient was playing a prank on him or was honest in his weird attempt to do something good. Without any guards to come to his rescue he did not risk a fight so he kept silent.

"Is this... my bag?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes. I just borrowed it," Erik answered, surprised by the change of topic.

"Usually one asks before one borrows anything," the doctor said.

"You were not there," Erik shrugged, "And you didn't need it today."

"Why aren't you in your room composing a concert? What happened? Where are the guards?"

"Third: The guards are turning the house upside down searching for my person. Second: You should fire them, their salary is too high and they are good for nothing, First: I needed a bit of fresh air."

The doctor had to ask the driver to stop the carriage, he felt nauseous. "Travel sickness?" Erik asked with a sympathetic tone in his voice, "You shouldn't eat so much before getting on a carriage."

Dr. Benevole did not answer. He needed to walk for a while to clear his head. To his annoyance Erik chose to join him for the walk, the carriage following behind.

"What happened?" Dr. Benevole asked, although he was not sure he wanted to know. He fully expected to return to a house full of corpses murdered by this madman.

Erik shrugged. "The guards annoyed me. Those two who should guard the corridor came in and asked me to show my face - after a small discussion I convinced them that it was better for all of us if they would drop their request. Then I decided to go for a walk to clear my head. You see, I was slightly annoyed and did not wish to harm anyone."

"So they are... alive?"

Erik laughed: "Of course they are! Do you really think I am so stupid as to endanger my chance to clean my record and be free just for the likes of them? They are not worth my spit! But I guess they are now having much fun playing hide and seek."

"Save guess," Dr. Benevole grumbled, he silently agreed that he had to fire the guards. All of them.

"You spoke to Mademoiselle Daae?" Erik asked, his voice suddenly cold.

The doctor flinched, they were still not close enough to the house so his scream for help would be heard. "How do you know?"

Erik just took Christine's letter out of his own pocket, waved it through the air and slipped it back. "Thanks for delivering her letter," he commended dryly, "And kindly not die of a heart attack - it would be most inconvenient right now."

Dr. Benevole needed to sit down. This was a horrible situation and he knew he was in grave danger. That masked man was the most dangerous criminal he had ever heard about, he surpassed every documented case.

"There is no need to be frightened," Erik answered, "Christine is right. The sooner I am declared 'cured' the better for all of us. Of course I understand that you can't just say I am sane right now - you need a documented case file for your study and it has to pass detailed examination or it would be worthless. I know that and it is in my best interest to take an active part in the therapy."

* * *

Before they reached the house, both men took their places in the carriage. The doctor was furious and asked Erik to hide the best he could for he wanted to punish the men a bit. Erik just nodded grinning as if this was great fun.

When Dr. Benevole got out of the carriage his supervising colleague came running from the house.

"He escaped," the man stammered breathless, "We can't find him."

The four guards who had been on duty were called and Dr. Benevole berated them for disobedience, especially those two who had tried to see Erik's face. "Are you mad? I told you to take care he did not leave the room - do you know what your stupidity did? He suffered a severe relapse! He's out there and might be on a killing spree! No one is allowed to ask him about his mask! No one is allowed to talk to him other than small-talk! The rules were clear - now every life he takes is on your hands!"

Erik had to put both hands over his mouth to stifle his laughter. The doctor was not bad in scaring people himself. When the two guards looked positively green in their faces the doctor decided they had enough. "Now look who asked me to give him a ride," he said and Erik stepped out of the carriage, very pleased with himself, grinning.

"As you see, gentlemen, I am here and have harmed no one," he chuckled, "But you have a really sick imagination. I was just enjoying the beautiful sunshine. Are you sure that **I** am the madman here?"

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Thank you for the many reviews and sorry for the delay with this chapter. I finished Heart to Heart Conversation and the last chapter of that fanfic has more than 20000 words._

 _Please review!_


	7. Doctors Need Much Patience With Patients

**Education of the Heart**

 **Doctors Need Much Patience With Patients**

The next day Erik was in exceptional good mood. He had been able to sleep that night and was more than ever convinced that Christine could not wait for him to be released for she would want to be with him. He could not figure out another reason why she would encourage him to concentrate on his "recovery" - he still did not think he was mentally ill - even if that meant they had to stop to write to each other? Her letters were always friendly and she had not once told him to stop writing or that she didn't like his letters. On the contrary, she thanked him for each letter. She wouldn't do that if she did not like his letters, would she?

The guards and the care workers were in a very dark mood for they all expected to be fired now. So when all of them sat together in the diningroom for breakfast and one of the guards begged not to be fired for he needed the money - he had four sons attending to school and he would not be able to pay the schoolfees if he would lose his job, Erik turned to Dr. Benevole: "Do you really intend to fire them?"

"Of course! They are no good in watching you," the doctor grumbled.

"It is not their fault, you see," Erik answered softly, "They are just no match for my superior intellect and never have been."

It took a while until Dr. Benevole understood that Erik was - in a very weird way - asking him not to fire them. What was that? Some sort of empathy? Or was the masked man just acting again? "You better keep silent," he snapped, falling out of his role as the doctor for he too was just a man and very angry now, "You broke the rules **again** and I could stop this and send you back to prison now! Didn't you promise me not to break any rules again? That you would be very willing and helpful from now on?"

"I didn't promise exactly that," Erik replied calmly, "But if you send me back to prison, what good would that do? You would never know how I tricked the guards. Aren't you curious?"

Dr. Benevole had to talk to his supervising colleague first before they finally decided that since Erik had always come back without creating more mischief than writing a letter or feeding a hungry wolf they could give him another chance. After all, for a man who was considered a dangerous criminal madman Erik behaved far too good.

So Erik took both doctors to his room, pulled the table to a certain spot and placed a chair on top of the table. He climbed on top of that construction and pushed against one board in the ceiling, the board was loose and easily pushed aside. Erik stretched and grabbed the boards beside the opening, then pushed himself through the tiny hole. "Now you," he called out, "If you can."

The doctors could not. They were not slim enough to fit through the hole. "You can take the staircase next to the north-entrance," Erik answered, surprising them with his knowledge about the building. So the doctors had to take the staircases down to the hallway, leave the house, walk around the corner and re-enter through another door that lead to a small dirty staircase to the cellar and to the attic. When they finally reached the attic, both breathing heavily, they found Erik sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor, reading a book, with a bag beside him. When had he gotten book and bag?

"O, there you are," Erik grinned, "I took the liberty borrowing another book. And while you were gone I went to the kitchen for a bit of meat for the cute little puppies."

Dr. Benevole rolled his eyes. "Do you want us to run through the wood now?"

"Do you want to know how I escaped or not?" Both doctors agreed that they simply had to know. "Very well. This way, Messieurs..." Erik lead the way down the staircase again. Then he went strait to the trees and the doctors stared at each other - of course, if the guards were at the other side of the house - south - they would not see him leaving at the north. No one had known he could reach the attic and escape through the ceiling.

To Erik's surprise Dr. Thomas Benevole kept his pace and within a few minutes they had lost the other doctor. "Shall we wait?" Dr. Benevole panted.

"I don't think so," Erik answered cheerfully, "You do not need to be afraid, the she-wolf is wounded and has no mate. She will not attack and leave her babies."

"It's not the wolf I am concerned about," the doctor grumbled, struggling to keep up with Erik.

Erik just smiled: "So you are afraid of me. Why? I already told you I do not want you to die now, that would me most inconvenient. No, I need you alive and well and I promise I will give you what you need for your study."

While they made their way through the thick undergrowth, Dr. Benevole thought about Erik's answer. The first step to cure mental illness was that the patient had to accept that he was ill and needed help - most patients thought everyone else mad and denied being ill themselves. But he was not absolutely convinced this Erik was mentally ill - maybe he was just a very clever criminal who acted the part of the criminal insane to avoid death penalty or a life-sentence. But then... considering he really thought the girl was his fiancee when he had not even proposed to her - the man was crazy. The problem was, how could one convince a madman that he was mad? Especially if he was that clever and highly educated?

Suddenly Erik stopped and signaled the doctor to keep quiet. "Stay here," he whispered and took a bowl out of the bag. In that bowl was meat, Erik took it with bare hands and sneaked toward an almost invisible hole in the ground beside a large tree. A grey wolf appeared and eyed Erik cautiously. The masked man kept a distance of about four meters and threw the meat to the wolf which took it and vanished into the hole again. Erik returned to the doctor and sat down. "Maybe they come out if we wait silently," he whispered.

Despite sitting there for hours, the wolves did not leave their den. But from the noises they made the doctor knew that there really were puppies. "Not today," Erik sighed, "They do not know you and are mistrustful." He got up, brushed the earth from his clothing and started to walk back towards the house.

Dr. Benevole tried to analyse this behaviour. Most people feared wolves, the farmers hated them for they sometimes hunted sheep. But Erik seemed to care for them and feel somehow responsible. This was a good omen for if that man was a hardened criminal without any conscience he would not care for a wild animal. But obviously something was able to touch him and he surely did feel the urge to protect and care. Maybe this would be the key to that man's twisted mind?

Since Erik knew that the doctors theory about how someone would become criminally insane was that the person must have either inherited it - then there was no cure and there must be known cases of insanity - not necessary criminal - in the family or that a healthy person could become insane due to severe trauma and mistreatment, especially if a child was not properly cared for and taught, he knew he had to tell about his past. It would be painful but he decided to say the truth rather than making something up. He had read enough by now to know that his real past was far worse than that of any other patient Dr. Benevole had written about in his books. So maybe he could tell the truth, it might even help to get the doctor to trust him.

Dr. Benevole was surprised that Erik himself suggested he would like to tell a bit more about himself so the doctor would get to know him. Was this another trick? But the doctor decided to play along, especially when he noticed that Erik had little endurance for this. Erik would tell something and then suddenly run away and lock himself in his room and play the piano for hours. This told the doctor two things - first, the story was too painful for his patient to be a lie and second - that man already had a coping mechanism for anger, frustration and pain that would be accepted by a civilized society. Playing the piano to calm down or to lessen the pain was a good idea and it really seemed to avoid violence.

It took weeks for Dr. Benevole to put together the jigsaw puzzle that was Erik's life, for Erik was not able to tell the story like one was reading a book. He would just throw the doctor a small piece of the puzzle and then leave. Dr. Benevole knew better than to stop his patient and demand more - he could sense that man's distress and that he was really doing his best and could not bring himself to tell more. There were days when Erik would not be able to say anything, then they would just sit there and wait. Erik could sit in his chair and stare at nothing in particular for days when it became too much for him to talk about things he had tried to forget.

The best talks were when they went to the wood to feed the wolf or watch the little wolves playing. That was when Erik was able to open up more than usual. Dr. Benevole wondered if he should get a cat or a lapdog for Erik - he would certainly relax more if he had some cute cuddly animal in his arms. He even suggested that Erik might want a pet and was surprised by the answer. "No, thank you very much," Erik replied seriously, "A cat or a dog can live 15 years or even longer - as long as I do not know if I will be there to care for it its entire life I better not get a pet." It was an answer that told Dr. Benevole that Erik certainly had a sense of responsibility - at least when it came to animals. But maybe he could teach him to care in the same way for people?

* * *

Erik's past was like a horror novel. He was born and immediately rejected by his mother and father. He knew that there were grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins, but as a child he had been kept hidden for his parents were ashamed of him. His parents had not been poor and they had given him away to a foster-mother. The foster-mother had been a poor widow with three children and her only income was to take in the deformed child. Erik remembered little of her, but he knew she had a small cottage and goats and chickens and cats. When he was old enough to attend to school he had suffered so much abuse at the hands of other children that the teacher finally agreed to give private lessons - after the boy had suffered a broken left arm, twisted left knee, lost three teeth and so many bruises he could barely move in just one month.

The teacher had declared Erik to be not only deformed but also stupid, too stupid for anything but unskilled labor. The boy had never even finished primary school. At that Dr. Benevole had to ask for more information - the man he knew was far too clever not to pass primary school! "I was scared," Erik admitted, "I was about five years old and so scared of that man I couldn't even hear or see what he was trying to teach me."

After that his parents had suggested that the boy should become an unskilled laborer at a farm, he was old enough for that. His foster mother had saved him - and her only source of income. She had somehow convinced his father that it would be a shame to have his son being a lowly farm servant and the boy deserved at least a chance to learn a respectable profession. So he had been given to a master mason as apprentice, he should become a brick mason. The master mason had already accepted the money from his father and was shocked to see that he was given a small child as apprentice - but he did not want to pay the large sum back. Since Erik had not been strong enough to do any real work the master mason had taken him in as office boy.

One day Erik - he did not remember how old he had been, maybe seven - had lost a sheet of paper he should be giving to an architect. When the architect had scolded him for the carelessness Erik had offered to copy it to avoid punishment. And he did. It had just been a sketch and he copied it from memory in astonishing detail. Of course he had made mistakes, but the architect was so surprised to find the boy who had been presented to him as good-for-nothing turned out to be a gifted drawer. So he had become an apprentice as a technical drawer.

"I thought you were an architect?" Dr. Benevole asked.

Erik laughed bitterly: "Without graduation form primary school? No university would ever accept me. But I have completed my education as technical drawer and secretary."

"Secretary?" This man's story was becoming more and more confuse.

"The architect was not rich, he could not pay a technical drawer or a secretary. But as apprentice all he needed to give me was a place to sleep, food and sometimes new clothing. I was young but I think I did good work or he would not have kept me three years. When I was ten he told me to pack my belongings and leave. I had passed the exam and now was too expensive to keep." There was so much bitterness in Erik's voice that the doctor had to stop their talk at this point and give him time to calm down again.

Erik had tried to go home to his foster mother, but the woman had remarried and moved to her husband and no one told him the address. He had tried to go to his real parents, but they too had moved and if he asked he would just be chased away. The only answer he got was that his parents had claimed to leave France. Then Erik had stopped talking for about a week, had done nothing but lying on his bed staring at the ceiling, unable to do anything. Dr. Benevole only managed to coax him out of the room twice - to feed the wolf. "I'd do it myself, but I won't find the den and the wolf wouldn't accept me," he reasoned and Erik had pushed himself up.

The doctor watched Erik walking slowly, his head lowered, his back slightly bent, the clothes crumpled and his entire appearance unkempt since he had not even changed his clothes once. Right now Erik looked like the classic example of a mentally sick man and for once Dr. Benevole was convinced this was the truth.

As suddenly as he had fallen into that deep depression Erik seemed to recover. He appeared clean and immaculately dressed in the library and asked if they should continue now.

As a child Erik had spend some time in the streets, trying to find shelter and food, begging for food and finally stealing. He had been taken in by a group of gypsies who used him as diversion when they stole. Erik had to act as a beggar, approaching people who would stare at him in shock while the gypsies stole from them. The boy had learned to steal and do some slight of hand magic to draw attention to him. Until they had been arrested.

"Yes, I did stand trial for theft," Erik commended highly amused, "You see, I have quite a criminal record. But at that time I really had done it to survive. I was a child and did what I had to do to survive."

Erik had served his sentence - a few month since he was just a young child - and one of the guards in prison had found out he had light hands. That man took pity on the boy who had to be kept isolated from the other prisoners or they would have killed him. Spending month in a hole in the ground that was not larger than two square meters without anything to keep himself occupied had been horrible. But the guard gave him to a watchmaker as apprentice.

"So you are a watchmaker too?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"No, I never finished apprenticeship. The watchmaker had daughters and when I grew older than... I do not really know... maybe fourteen, I guess - he felt I was dangerous to them and just cast me out. I do not understand why everyone thinks I am dangerous to females - I never harmed one!"

Again he had lived as a vagrant for some time until he had found employment as man-servant to a young architect who was on his way to Persia. Persia invited scientists from Europe to catch up in science and economy. The architect wanted to participate in a contest to win the contract for a new building in Teheran. But when the day came he was to present his blueprints to the court, he had fallen ill.

"Fallen ill?" Dr. Benevole raised his eyebrows. Hadn't there been something about singers mysteriously falling ill?

Erik shrugged and told that he had gone there in the place of his master and presented his own drawings which were not so mainstream business but something special. This something special had brought him to the attention of the Shah who had not given him the project he originally hoped to win but had hired him.

Erik did not talk much about Persia. He had been an inventor and architect, but there had been a time when he had used his skills to create accidents. Sometimes the Shah needed to dispose of somebody who was from a family with great influence so he could not just sentence him to death. But accidents to happen and no one ever caught the man who had been responsible for an accident to happen at the right time to the right man.

"That's why I left Persia," Erik sighed, standing at the window, staring at the trees, "I was sick of being nothing but an executioner, using my skills and my mind for nothing good. You already know the rest of the story."

Dr. Benevole knew, and even if he believed Erik he was sure the man had left many things out. He did not believe that Erik had always been just the poor victim of others, he suspected he had done many bad things. The story was nearly too perfect. It was like a recipe how to make a madman.

"Now that I know your past - do you already have plans for your future?" Dr. Benevole asked friendly.

"Yes, as soon as I get out of here I go to Christine and marry her," Erik answered.

"And where will you live? How will you pay your bills?"

Erik shrugged, confirming the doctors suspicion that he planned just to return to the opera and continue where he had left. This would not do. This man had never experienced a normal life, at least as an adult, and needed to learn some social skills that would enable him to live as normal citizen. But the doctor knew very well that he should not push the masked man or he would lose what little trust he had gained.

But that would not be the biggest problem. Erik was skilled and gifted, he could do so many things, of course he would find a way to live an honest life - if he wanted to. And this was the main problem, the doctor was convinced that Erik did not even want to try. In that he was like every normal criminal - of course they could have a job, but stealing seemed to be so much easier.

"How old are you now?" Dr. Benevole asked.

Erik turned round and leaned against the windowsill. "I have no idea," he answered with a sad smile, "I guess forty-something."

Upon a sudden intuition Dr. Benevole asked: "Do you know how old Christine Daae is?"

"20 years, 273 days, 13 hours and -" he checked his watch - since when did Erik have a pocket watch? - "47 minutes. The seconds have not been taken down in her birth certificate." Dr. Benevole sighed. Whenever he thought Erik was a sane man he said or did something to prove he was not.

"You have a pocket watch?" the doctor asked.

Erik grinned: "Sometimes it is so easy to read your thoughts. You think I stole it, don't you? No, I won it in a card game from one of the workers here." As if cheating in a game was better than stealing. Dr. Benevole decided that he would have to help Erik develop a conscience or that man would forever be extremely dangerous. But then - this was an experiment to show if there was a chance to cure criminal insane. The doctor would need to ask his supervisor and contact all colleagues he could think of. How do you teach a grown man the difference between right and wrong and to act accordingly?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	8. Best Laid Plans

**Education of the Heart**

 **Best Laid Plans**

Erik was growing restless. He had done everything he could - he had even told the doctor of his past and had not lied to him, so why didn't he just get his papers and be set free? Why didn't the doctor not just write his report that the patient was cured and send it to the magistrate? He wanted to return to Paris to see Christine again. It had been months since he last saw her, heard her lovely voice.

Dr. Benevole first tried to bring Erik in contact with normal people - which had not been a good idea for the stares and the mockery at the sight of his mask had only proven Erik's statement that he would not be accepted, even if he endured it. Erik had been more or less polite when the doctor had asked him to come with him to a village to buy something or to the blacksmith to have a horse shod. But despite all efforts contact with people was barely possible. They were afraid or mocked him - both just made him angry and when he lost his temper he would only confirm their believe that he was a dangerous wild animal. But it was hard to keep his temper when he heard them mocking him and didn't even stop when he looked at them to show them he had heard.

"If you think I could ever live here - forget it," Erik sighed, "They see my mask and hate me knowing nothing, absolutely **nothing** , about me." Dr. Benevole wondered if these people would react differently if they knew him. If they knew what he was capable of, would they react differently? Maybe they would not mock him or spit at his feet. They would run off in panic screaming for help.

"You do not need to be accepted by everyone," Dr. Benevole tried to reason as they were on their way back to the house, "Only by a few people. What if you try to find a job? You will need to talk to them. I am sure with your knowledge and your skills..."

"They mean nothing if I do not have papers," Erik retorted, "And right now I am not even able to prove who I am."

"But you **do** have papers?"

Erik shrugged and stared out of the window of their carriage. Dr. Benevole asked again: "You do have some papers?"

"No," Erik confessed, "But I could forge some. I need..."

"O no! You cannot forge the papers! You can claim to have lost them and ask for a duplicate," the doctor said, "You need two witnesses to prove your identity."

"I have **none**!" Erik suddenly yelled, "No one wants to know **me**. The few people who knew me as Erik Morriere - I do not even know their names. We can't ask the Shah of Persia, for he would just ask that I be send back in chains to face execution for high treason."

"Charles Garnier?" Dr. Benevole suggested.

Erik winced and started chewing on his nails. "That might be a problem," he admitted, "Garnier does not know that my real name is Erik Morriere. He knows me by another name. And before you ask - Mademoiselle Daae did not know my name until I was caught. Madame Giry knows nothing about me - except that I am not a ghost. And you... would you go to the magistrate and swear that I am Erik Morriere?" Dr. Benevole gave him such a terrified look Erik turned away and snapped icily: " **Precisely**."

Dr. Benevole took a note to talk the the magistrate. There must be a legal way to get some papers. But he would not trouble Erik with that right now. Erik already had problems to keep his temper in check, that much was obvious by the way he was nervously playing with his pocket watch.

They spend weeks discussing what Erik planned to do when he would build up a new life. The main problem Dr. Benevole faced was that all of Erik's ideas revolved around Christine. Where would he live? Paris, of course. Wouldn't that be a bad idea, after everything he had done there? No, because it would be the best for Christine's career as singer. How could he earn money? Never mind, he wouldn't need much, he would find a way.

Dr. Benevole was close to yelling at him. Erik obviously had not understood anything and planned on going back to where he had left. But this would not do.

So Dr. Benevole discussed the problem with his supervising colleague.

"He still thinks he's sane and has done nothing wrong," Dr. Benevole sighed and shook his head sadly, "His whole biography is filled with him being the victim - I believe him, I really do, but I think he left out everything where he wasn't the victim but the criminal. Since he thinks he is the victim and everyone else the culprit he feels justified to steal, blackmail and I guess even murder. Until he accepts that not society itself has to change but **he** , there is no way of allowing him to be free, he's to dangerous."

"And how do you plan to cure that?" the supervising doctor asked. It sounded cynical but he did not mean in like that. He was just frustrated to see the good idea of being able to cure criminal insanity - that might help many people - fail.

Dr. Benevole shrugged. "He's not a lost cause. He is able to feel empathy and take responsibility - but he just blocks out what he is doing to others. Maybe if we confront him with the consequences of his actions, maybe that will enable him to accept that he has done horrible things and has to stop that?"

"I think he just does not care," the supervising doctor cut in, "I think you are feeling a bit too close to him to be really objective. You like him and I have to admit that he is a clever fellow and good musician. I heard him play sometimes, he's really good. But being a genius does not make a good man - what if he's not a rough diamond as you see him but really nothing but a criminal?"

"You haven't seen him risking his life to feed the wolf. I can't believe that he has no empathy at all. If he accepts that he is mentally ill and needs help I am sure we can cure him," Dr. Benevole stated.

"You said it - **IF**. And if not?"

Dr. Benevole sighed. "I do not like to think about that. He's such a gifted man - he could be such a great man, if only he would accept that he is the perpetrator. I think he sees himself as the victim only."

"And how do you think you can confront him with the consequences of his misdeeds?"

"Confront him with some of his victims. Most victims want to talk to the perpetrator and look in his eyes and show him what he did to them," Dr. Benevole explained, "If just some of them are willing to talk to him he can't be unmoved."


	9. Confrontation: Carlotta

**Education of the Heart**

 **Confrontation: Carlotta Guidicelli**

The first person who agreed to speak to the Phantom was Carlotta Guidicelli. Dr. Benevole and his supervising colleague were not happy with that. As far as they knew Carlotta had been the main target for the Phantom's attacks but she was a difficult character herself. She was a self-centered primadonna and her temper tantrums were well known. The doctors knew they would have to watch closely for a direct confrontation between those two people would easily escalate.

Dr. Benevole decided to talk to Carlotta alone before she would see the patient.

Carlotta arrived in her carriage. She was dressed in orange and red and a bit too much make-up and jewelry. She was arrogant and screamed at the driver for the carriage ride had been uncomfortable.

"Madame Guidicelli?", Dr. Benevole asked and before he could say anything else Carlotta started yelling at him.

"Si! And you are the one responsible for my discomfort today? What did you think ordering me to come here, me, La Carlotta? I have business elsewhere!"

"Madame, I..."

"Yes, yes, yes, you thought nothing of it, I understand. You all think nothing of nothing. One wonders why men have heads at all if they do not use them. And women are even worse. Is there not one person in this world who understands what it means to be a singer? It is a job that requires 26 hours hard work a day!"

Dr. Benevole did not point out that a day only has 24 hours. Instead he said: "Madame, I appreciate that you are willing to help us. I wrote you a letter explaining what this is about and that you do not have to participate if you do not want to."

"Si! Writing letters! That's what **he** always did, for **he** is a **coward** , too cowardly to say what he had to say face to face. But not **me**! **I** am not afraid and I will say what I have to say face to face!"

Dr. Benevole wondered if it had been a good idea to ask all of Erik's victims if they wanted to confront the man who was the Phantom with what he did to them. If this woman would just yell at Erik he certainly would not react well to that. But then - this was an experiment. It might be interesting to see how victim and perpetrator would react if their roles would be reversed and he would suddenly be in the inferior position. He warned Carlotta that she would be disappointed for as far as he knew most victims hoped for a sign of remorse or an excuse but most perpetrators would not give that but hurt their victims further.

Carlotta gave him a smile that made the doctor shudder for it remembered him so much of a snake. "My good doctor, me might fool **you** but never **me**. I know **exactly** what kind of man I am dealing with. He's a coward, only feeling strong when he hides behind meter-thick walls and if I just look at him he will crumble." Dr. Benevole doubted this. The Erik he knew was no coward. But he definitely deserved to be cut down to size. He decided to have them talking in the hallway and having guards stand by and himself as well so they could interfere.

Erik was absolutely not willing to talk to Carlotta. He had agreed to meet his "victims" as part of his therapy after Dr. Benevole threatened that he would have to stop the experiment and send him back to prison if he refused, but Carlotta was certainly not on his list of victims. "I have never done anything to her," Erik scoffed, "On the contrary, **she** deserves to be placed in a therapy like this for she surely needs one."

Dr. Benevole pondered the unusual wording Erik had used. "Erik, we have talked about this. Everyone who feels he or she was your victim has a right to tell you what they think happened to you. You agreed to listen to them. Not defend yourself, not quarrel with them, just listen."

"And this is going to help me - **how**?" Erik asked, he had no idea what the doctor was up to. This was nothing the doctor had ever written about.

Dr. Benevole sat down on the couch in Erik's small livingroom. He could see that he had been interrupting Erik in some composition. It was good to see him doing something normal and right now Dr. Benevole couldn't help admiring the energy that man had. Erik was constantly busy and if they did not give him something to do he would find something himself. There were more than enough papers lying round in his room covered in sketches for architecture, stage sets, sheets of music. And sometimes he sketched technical devices no one understood. If that energy and recourcefulness would be used for something good that man could actually be a very helpful member of society.

Erik got up with a sigh. "If you insist..." he grumbled, "But if I can't endure her voice any longer I am free to go, am I not? No doctor is allowed to torture his patient, isn't it?"

"I understand that this will not be easy for you," Dr. Benevole answered, "And you will not be alone. I will be there and of course some guards, you have nothing to fear."

"Fear? **Fear**? You really think **I** would be afraid of that bitch?" Erik yelled and the doctor thought that Erik and Carlotta sometimes sounded quite the same. Maybe they suffered the very same mental illness but Carlotta never had the chance to become a criminal for she was not as clever as he was.

The meeting in the hall of the house was more than icy. Erik refused to greet her and Carlotta was as stubborn. They stood there, glaring at each other and refused to back down. Dr. Benevole was forced to interfere and introduce the two formally so it would not escalate before one of them had even said one word. To the doctor's annoyance Erik wore his Phantom-attire, white mask, black hat, black cape, tuxedo.

"Monsieur Morriere," Carlotta said, her voice icier then absolute zero, "I thought you were taller. Did you wear high-heels at the opera?"

Erik flinched as he was called by his name. He really felt smaller and weaker than before. He was completely at the disadvantage here. But he would not back down before that siren, never. "Madame Guidicelli," he answered with much contempt in his voice, "It is good to see you here. As long as you are here you can't **terrorize** the opera."

Carlotta was speechless at this audacity and Erik couldn't help a brief but triumphant smile. He had left her speechless which was a rare accomplishment. Dr. Benevole sat on a chair and hid his face in his hands. This was going completely wrong. He had wanted Erik to feel guilty for what he had done to that poor woman and not humiliate her further!

Before the doctor could interfere Carlotta had found her voice again. " **Terrorize** the opera? Look who's talking - what are you? Afraid of competition? As if **I** would be that desperate!"

Erik shrugged, seemingly calm: "What else have you done in the last three years? You, Madame, are past your prime. You have been a tolerable soprano once, but now you are not. You know that and therefore you terrorize every girl who sets her foot in the opera house. Tell me, **La Carlotta** , how low can you go to even terrorize the charwomen? Are you really that scared one of them might sing better than you?"

Carlotta attacked him, her long nails polished in shining red outstretched like cat's claws. Erik caught her wrists and held her effordlessly as she screamed vulgar insults at him. "It seems I hit a raw nerve," Erik smiled mockingly. Carlotta tried to get free but his grip was like iron.

"Madame, please, calm down," Dr. Benevole tried to interfere, which was difficult, for it was not Erik who acted aggressively. Carlotta spit at Erik who stayed perfectly calm but did not release her. "Madame, please."

Carlotta took a deep breath and sat down. "How dare you?" she spat at Erik, "How dare you mock me even now?"

Erik stood still, crossed his arms and smiled. Carlotta reacted exactly as he had thought he would. "Madame, I understood that you feel like you were my victim - care to enlighten me, what have I ever done to you?"

Carlotta, who had already been fainting, was suddenly on her feet again and yelled: "What have you done to me? Do not pretend you do not know! You have been **terrorizing** me for three years! **Three years**! You created all these stupid little accidents which could have cost my **life**! You tried to **murder** me! You dropped the set on me! You made me croak in front of a full house! Don't you dare tell me you **forgot** all this!"

"Murder you?" Erik was genuinely surprised. He had tried to frighten her, but he had never even thought about killing her. "I did no such thing."

Carlotta stood only inches from him and glared up at his face. "You stupid bastard! You just wanted to get rid of me for you wanted to replace me with that talentless little whore of yours!"

Now Erik lost his temper. He did not physically attack her, no, he raised his hands as if he was going to strangle her, but he did not touch her. "Christine Daae is the better soprano by far! You are jealous and you use the influence of your lovers to hinder her rightfully earned career!" he accused, "If anyone is a whore, it's you!"

Carlotta slapped him and in the process got hold of his mask and ripped it off. He lost his wig as well.

Suddenly all were silent staring at the horribly deformed face before them. It was so silent you could have heard a pin drop.

Carlotta was the first one to recover from her shock. She backed away from Erik, grabbed the back of her chair and stood behind the chair as if it was a shield. Erik bent down and got his mask and wig, turned away and put it back on. "I see," Carlotta said, "I understand. You are just a **freak**. That's why you hid in the vaults of the opera! You are just a **rat** from the sewers, **pretending** to be human. You had no chance to get any woman - not even a harlot would ever stoop so low as to spend time with you. So what price did Christine Daae pay for your futile try to scare me away?"

Erik could take no more. He had never planned to kill Carlotta - not even physically harm her - but now he could no longer endure her taunting. It was one thing to be exposed, mocked and humiliated - it had already angered him - but to hear Christine being verbally abused was more than he could take. Within a split-second his hands wrapped around her neck as he tried to strangle her. He would have killed her in his rage had not Dr. Benevole and the guards grabbed him and forced him to let go of her.

Carlotta gasped for breath but it gave her incredible pleasure to see the once dreaded Phantom being forced to his knees, his arms behind his back by the guards. When Erik finally gave in to their superior number and ceased fighting she went up to him, slowly, deliberately. Before Dr. Benevole could stop her she unmasked Erik again and looked down on him. He did not look intimidating now, he looked pathetic as he knelt there, his arms securely held back by four guards. He could do nothing now. His eyes were filled with pure hatred like a volcano ready to erupt.

"So, Erik Morriere, that's how it is. You are just a crazy freak in an asylum. And I am the primadonna of the Opera Populaire. I could almost pity you - almost," Carlotta's voice was like honey - poisoned honey that is.

Erik tried to retort something, tried to get free, but he couldn't. Four guards holding his arms in a painful position, he thought his joints would snap any moment now, two more held his ankles and one held his neck, almost cutting off his breath. He could do nothing as Carlotta left in triumph, she had gotten what she had hoped for. Revenge.

"Erik, we are going to release you. Are you going to make trouble again?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"No," Erik choked out. He needed air, being strangled was horrible, he would have promised anything now. They did release him and he staggered to his feet, moving his arms to get the pain out of them.

"We should talk about this. Library?" the doctor asked.

Erik nodded. "If you take a brandy now, I think I could use one too," he answered.

The doctor frowned. "No. No alcohol. You are a patient, remember? All I can offer is some tea."

Erik sighed. "Better than nothing." His hands were still trembling and he would have loved to get something to ease the tension now.

When they sat together in the library Erik began with a sneer: "Do you understand now why I **had** to try to get rid of that awful woman?"

"No love lost between the two of you," Dr. Benevole replied diplomatically.

"I had no choice," Erik answered, "She was bullying everyone at the opera. Everyone was afraid of her scenes and dirty gossip. I had to do something, she was about to ruin the working atmosphere at the opera."

The doctor could not help but commend: "And what do you call what **you** were doing?"

Erik took a deep breath, trying not to become angry. "Me? I was being **helpful**. It could have been so much easier if they would just have accepted my **friendly advice**. Carlotta has had her career. Now she's past her prime and should step down to clear the path for a younger, better soprano."

"Christine Daae?"

"Yes, of course!"

"And what if Christine Daae grows old? She can't be in her prime all her live?" the doctor asked, "Would you advise her to step down too?"

Erik seriously had never thought about that possibility, but now that the doctor had named it - yes, even Christine would grow old and eventually a younger singer would replace her. "That would never have been necessary," he answered, "Christine is a honorable girl, not a whore like Carlotta who slept with many patrons to get her job. Christine would know when it would be time to retire."

"You have a very high opinion of Mademoiselle," the doctor observed.

"Yes, of course! She's an angel!" Erik answered, "Do you see now why I was **forced** to act like I did? Why I had to try again and again to convince them to listen to me? I could not watch them ruin the reputation of **my** opera house!"

Dr. Benevole fought the urge to slap his patient. That man was fully convinced he was right and it was his right to blackmail and threaten everyone. "Tell me, Monsieur Morriere, one reason why they should listen to you? You are not the manager, not the director, not the conductor and not even a hired advisor. You do not own the Opera Populaire. So why should they listen to you?"

"Because I was doing them a **favour**!" Erik snapped, "Because I know better than they do. The opera would not have the excellent reputation in Europe it now has if Lefevre had not listened to **me**. I simply have to protect them from ruining the opera."

"Why would it be your opera house?" Dr. Benevole asked.

Erik fell silent. Then he answered coldly: "Because **I am** the best one to manage it. Don't you see? They are keeping me from **my rightful position** just because of **this**!" He gestured to his mask that was again in place. "Because of **this** they are keeping me from the position that is **rightfully mine.** I am just acting in **self-defense**."

Dr. Benevole sighed. Now he wanted a brandy. That man was really getting on his nerves. He braced himself for many more months, even years, until that self-centered man would not be as dangerous as he was right now.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _So - the first confrontation backfired. Erik is more than ever convinced that he is in the right._

 _Thank you for the reviews I already got!_

 _Please review! I really love any review for they are most inspiring!_


	10. Confrontation: Christine

**Education of the Heart**

 **Confrontation: Christine**

Dr. Benevole and his colleague sat in the office and discussed the confrontation between their patient and Carlotta. It had been a disaster to say the least. Erik felt more justified than ever in what he had done to her and was convinced he had every right to cut her down to size for in his opinion she was the one terrorizing the staff of the Opera Polpulaire and not himself. No argument would be accepted by him. He was sure to have some God-given right and humankind itself was wrong. Their laws were wrong for they were unjust. Their bureaucracy was just made to suppress creativity and genius and superelevate mediocrity and incompetence. And because their laws were unjust, he seemed not to feel bound by them.

Whenever Dr. Benevole tried to explain that any society - even a pack of wolves - had rules they had to follow, be them just or unjust, they were necessary for the survival of all, Erik had just pointed out that France would not exist in its current form had the people been playing by the rules. When the doctor tried to get him to admit that at least the Ten Commandments were not unjust, Erik had started a long speech about just how unjust they were, especially if a child is required to love its parents - but parents are not required to care for their child in any way. Where is the justice in that?

"We can't win that game by logic," Dr. Benevole concluded as his colleague went through his notes, "He's like a politician, slippy as an eel. He can talk about almost everything and always finds logical arguments for his statements. If it was only that - not everyone is happy with our law system - he refuses to obey even the most basic rules like not to kill. Somehow I think he thinks because humanity cast him out he's no longer bound by any rules. He thinks he has some God-given rights because of his genius, but at the same time refuses to accept that other people might have rights too."

"The idea of confronting him with his victims backfired," the doctor answered, "As much as I understand La Carlotta's need for revenge - the humiliation he had to endure caused a severe relapse. He locked himself in his room and refuses to talk to anyone, he only comes out twice a week to feed the wolves. And he is quiet at daytime but plays the piano all night long."

"At least he did not try to escape," Dr. Benevole shook his head.

"Maybe La Carlotta was just the wrong person to get to him?" the doctor suggested.

"If we invite the managers I suspect it would be even worse - he's going to examine them to prove his superior knowledge how to run an opera house. I do not think they can get to him with arguments like 'If you wanted to manage the opera why didn't you apply for that job?'. No, I guess he will just continue to think he's the victim and they did wrong to refuse to listen to him," Dr. Benevole decided.

"Do we have received any other replies from people who might be willing to see him?"

"Christine Daae - and I think this will turn out even worse than with Carlotta. He still thinks she is his fiancee - she will have to tell him that she wants to marry the Vicomte de Chagny. Destroying his delusion might cause a catastrophe. Remember, we have not been able to hold him against his will, he might try to escape and commit murder again. Do you think we can risk that now?" Dr. Benevole was skeptical.

"You said he will fight us every step of the way. Maybe he needs a shock to crack that comfortable walls of self-pity and delusions before we can start to help him," the supervising doctor suggested.

"And you think if Christine Daae tells him she does not love him and why he might crack? What if it backfires and he loses whatever grip on sanity he has?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"He will have to face the truth sooner or later. And we can always chain him up and lock him in the cage - the house is equipped with one," the doctor suggested.

Dr. Benevole shuddered. After all Erik had told him he could not imagine what being chained up and locked into a cage would do to him - if Erik was not crazy now he would go mad with fear if they did this to him. No. He would rather use drugs to calm him down, even if his patient was a known drug-addicted and was likely to suffer a relapse to addiction. It was a dilemma. But it would be even more unfair to Erik to let him believe Christine Daae was waiting for him when she was not. Especially if Erik would be left alone to deal with the shock alone then and not have a psychiatrist or two at his side to help him - and make sure he would not resort to violence and blackmail again.

So they decided to invite Christine Daae.

Erik was more than happy when Dr. Benevole told him Christine Daae would visit him. "I told you she wants to see me," he exclaimed triumphantly.

Dr. Benevole flinched. That was exactly what he had been afraid of. "She does not pay you a sickbed-visit," he explained, "She is coming here as one of your victims to tell you how she felt when you were kidnapping her."

"Of course, I understand," Erik answered, "I know this was not one of my best ideas. I know I frightened her badly and owe her an apology."

"Erik, are you absolutely sure she loves you?" Dr. Benevole asked, "There is the rumor that she is going to marry the Vicomte de Chagny."

"Rumors!" Erik snorted, "She is **my** fiancee. Why else would she have asked me to trust her when I would rather die than allow myself to be caught? Why else would she write letters to me?"

"She will explain that herself," Dr. Benevole answered uneasily, "But please be prepared for a shock. I am sure your conversation with her will be rather painful."

* * *

Christine arrived in the large carriage in the early afternoon.

Erik was standing at the window anxiously waiting her for. He was dressed in a light grey suit, wore his mask and wig and had obviously tried to do everything to make him look as good as possible and not intimidating at all.

Dr. Benevole had their meeting in the hallway again, there were two chairs for them to sit and all guards were on alert. Erik greeted Christine with an elegant bow and a gesture as if he would kiss her hand - but he carefully avoided touching her.

When he straightened his spine and looked down on her his face softened and his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "You've come," he whispered, his voice low but filling the house at the same time.

"Yes," she gasped, she was very pale and her hands were shaking a bit.

The stood there, staring at each other as if hypnotized by each other's eyes. If Dr. Benevole hadn't known them to be victim and perpetrator he might have guessed to see two lovers. That effect was even stronger for she wore a dove-grey dress and a silver necklace that seemed to match his suit. As if they both had decided what to wear together.

"May I talk to him alone?" Christine asked.

"It is for your own protection," Dr. Benevole answered, "After all, he is dangerous."

"I can't do this in front of all these people," Christine replied calmly, "I am sure Erik will not hurt **me**."

The supervising doctor was against this, the guards told they would answer for nothing if these two would be left alone. Finally Dr. Benevole agreed that they might talk in the library but the door would be open and all of them waiting outside to help her should anything happen and Erik would have to be shackled to an armchair at his wrists so he would not be able to get up.

"Nothing will happen," Erik assured them calmly, self-confident. Dr. Benevole doubted this.

The worries of the doctor were more than justified for as soon as everyone else was out of the room Erik somehow managed to open his shackles and got up silently. Christine nevertheless closed the door to have some privacy even if she knew someone was listening in.

"My dear, please do not try to go easy on me. I know what I did to you was wrong and I want to apologize," he started.

Christine tried not to cry. His voice was so full of love, so full of hope. And she would have to break his heart now. "Erik, I did not come here to tell you how it was like to be kidnapped by you. I forgave you long ago and I forgave your betrayal. I really do. It is... something else. Dr. Benevole told me you want to marry me..."

Erik answered uneasily: "What else did he tell you?" He knew he had never officially proposed to her.

"That is not important. Erik, I... I do not want to marry you," she said, ducking down, expecting him to lose his temper.

The opposite happened. Erik smiled at her, went towards her and gently laid his hands on her shoulders: "My Christine, I understand. I really do. You are so very young, you have not reached the zenith of your career yet - it wouldn't be a good idea to get married. Your career is more important, I understand that and I totally agree."

Christine bit her lip. He did not understand at all. "No, you do not understand," she went on uneasily, "I do not want to marry **you**."

Erik frowned. "They told you to say that," he replied, his voice suddenly quavering.

The singer shook her head. "No they did not. I do **not** want to marry you."

"But you **want** to marry another one?" Erik hissed, "That insufferable fop, this Vicomte! This despicable glamour boy does **not** deserve you! And do you know why? Do **I** really have to tell you? Because he does not **respect** you."

Christine was surprised. When had Raoul been disrespectful to her? "I do not understand..." she said.

"O my poor Christine," Erik answered with a sigh, "You are such a good girl, such a decent, forgiving girl, you do not even recognize when someone is treating you badly. Surely you have not forgotten that evening after the premiere of Hannibal? He came to your dressing room and told you to have supper with him, you refused and he ignored that. He simply ignored your 'no' saying: 'You must change, I must get my hat.' He completely **ignored** your wish to be left alone."

Now Christine grew angry herself. Erik was surely the last person who had any right to rebuke anyone for ignoring her wishes. But she did not dare raising her voice so she answered: "And **you**? Did **you** respect my wishes?"

"Why, **of course** , my Christine, always," Erik answered deeply offended, "What makes you think different?"

"Maybe because you kidnapped me, held me prisoner and dropped the chandelier at my feet? Maybe because you stole my necklace with the ring and threatened me that my chains are yours?" she snapped enraged.

Erik was quiet for a moment, looking down at her. "I had to protect you," he answered calmly, "You are mine and I protect what is mine."

" **Yours**?" Christine's eyes went wide. She had never agreed to this. "I am **not yours**. I **never** agreed to that, you never even gave me any **choice**!"

"I **love** you," Erik yelled at her as if that would explain everything.

Christine sighed: "O Erik, I do not love you like a bride loves her future husband."

"You **hate** me?" Erik suddenly sank into his chair as if she had stabbed him in his heart. He had never thought she was capable of hating anyone.

"No, I do not hate you. Don't twist my every word!"

"I see. Then you love me. I fail to see the problem?"

"Yes, yes you fail to see the problem. Erik, the problem is that I love Raoul more than I love you. I love you like a child loves a fatherly friend, a teacher, a mentor. Nothing more."

"But you could grow to love me, my Christine, I'll be a free man soon, I can further your career, I can help you, teach you, we can sing together, we can..." Erik was eager to tell her of his plans for their future.

"No. I do not even want to give you that chance," Christine replied sadly.

Erik jumped to his feet and grabbed her arms roughly. "You are **mine**! You said so yourself!" he screamed.

"I said that to the Angel of Music! You deceived me, you betrayed me, you played with me! I am **not** yours and **never** will be!"

"You are **mine** and always will be!" he roared and backhanded her before he knew what he was doing. Christine fell to the floor the same moment the door was opened and the guards came in to prevent the escalation - too late.

Erik knelt down beside her, staring at her bleeding nose and lip, touching them gently with his fingers as if he could not believe what he had done. "Christine?" he whispered panicked, "Christine?" She didn't answer, she was unconscious.

Erik looked up at Dr. Benevole. "Help me," he pleaded desperately, "Help me."

Erik was pushed aside as the doctors rushed to help Christine. They told the guards to leave, they needed to open her corset to ease her breathing. The guards left, taking Erik with them who was too shocked at his own behaviour to do anything. He stared at the small drops of her blood on his hands. The guards shoved him roughly to his room where he sank onto his chair and just stared at his hands.

"God, what have I done?" he whispered desperately. He had sworn to himself to protect her and now he had hurt her.

* * *

Christine woke up soon. "Please don't send him to prison," was the first thing she said.

Dr. Benevole decided to go to Erik while his colleague was tending to Christine. She was not badly hurt, it had just been a slap and nothing that would require the attention of a doctor or a hospital. But she was clearly under shock and should not be alone now.

He found Erik sitting at his desk, staring at the dried drops of blood on his hands. When Erik noticed the doctor was there he looked up to him, his eyes wide with despair. "I did not want to hurt her," he whispered, his whole body trembling, "I did not realize what I was doing until she fell... Is she hurt badly?"

"No, no she is not. A bruise, a swollen lip and a few drops of blood from the nose - in three days she's as good as new."

Erik closed his eyes and heaved a deep breath in his relieve that she was not hurt. When he opened his eyes he saw the doctor still standing before him, as if waiting for him to say something. It was not easy to admit but Erik now understood that he would need help to learn to control his temper. But what for? Why should he learn to control himself, if he would never have a wife to protect from his bad temper? Everything he had hoped for had turned out to be an illusion and now there was nothing left for him. Nothing.

"I guess this goes to your report as a complete failure," he whispered and shook his head, "Tell them I prefer the Guillotine to a prison sentence. And make it quick, I don't want to go on like this."

Dr. Benevole sat down on the couch, waiting for Erik to say something more. Erik got up and went to his little bathroom with the washstand to wash his face and his hands. He took much time and when he finally came back to Dr. Benevole he did not wear his mask or his wig, which was a clear sign just how desperate he was. Erik sat down on the couch beside the doctor and stared at the window. His eyes were red as if he had just cried.

"I will not report this as a failure," the doctor informed him, "We made a mistake trusting you. We should never have relied on handcuffs to hold you. But you are still my patient."

Erik shook his head. "What for? I do not see why I should endure so much pain if there is no hope for me any more. No hope at all. Nothing."

"It is not hopeless," Dr. Benevole tried to assure him.

Erik barked a bitter laugh and buried his face in his hands. "Not hopeless? She does not want me, she does not want my music but I can't live without her. All that kept me going all these months - and you know they were not easy on me - was the hope to see her again, to hear her sing, to be with her. I can't live without her! Better hand me over to the executioner now and be done with it!"

"Erik, I know that it is painful now..."

" **No** you don't! You know **nothing**! How can you even **begin** to understand what it is like to love? I **love** her! I love her, I can't live without her!"

"If you love her, as you claim to do, you would put her happiness above your own," the doctor answered.

Erik thought about that. "She wouldn't be happy without music," he retorted in a childlike voice, "She **is** music, as I am **music**. We can't live without each other."

"She thinks different."

"She's wrong!"

"And you are unable to accept that she is a human being with a mind of her own who can decide for herself. If she makes a wrong decision, a true friend would still let her do it and stand at her side and hope for the best. A real friend would want her to be happy, even at the cost of his own happiness," Dr. Benevole finally lost his composure and yelled at Erik who looked up in surprise.

They were silent for a while until a care worker came in to inform them that Mademoiselle wanted to leave.

"I need to see her, please, one last time," Erik pleaded, "I just want to ask her forgiveness. Please."

* * *

Christine was already in the carriage when Erik, flanked by two guards, approached her. "Christine - please hear me. I do not... I did not want to hurt you. I am sorry, so sorry. Is there a slight chance that you can forgive me?"

"Maybe you understand now why I prefer Raoul's company. I never have to be afraid of him, while you are always unpredictable and violent," she said sadly.

"But I love you," he answered helplessly as if that would change anything, "I love you so much I killed for you."

"But I did not want that! **I never wanted that!** You always claim that your **face** is what makes your life miserable, but it isn't. Erik, I can see your naked face now without fear or disgust. Yes, I was shocked when I first saw it but now it does not really trouble me. I could get used to it. What really worries me is your **twisted, distorted mind. There is so much darkness in your soul I cannot stand to be close to you,** " she said calmly, but with so much warmth and pity in her voice Erik could not be angry with her for that. "Goodby, Erik. I hope the good doctor will be able to help you. Driver?"

The carriage left and Erik stumbled back to the house, fled to his room and barely managed to slam the door shut before he broke down sobbing.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Poor Erik, this is certainly not what he had hoped for._


	11. Breaking Point

**Education of the Heart**

 **Breaking Point**

Christine's visit left Erik in such a depressed state of mind he was no longer able to do anything. He had given himself up and refused to eat or to drink, he would not sleep and not even play music. He just lay on his back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He would have killed himself, if he had the strength and willpower to do that, but right now he couldn't do even that.

Dr. Benevole had given him two days, then he worried the man might suffer from dehydration. So he went up with some of Erik's favorite tea and entered uninvited. Erik did not react to the doctor sitting down on a chair beside his bed. He stared at the ceiling unblinking, his face naked but he did not care about that.

"You need to drink something," Dr. Benevole said.

Erik ignored him.

"You have to drink!"

Erik still ignored him.

Dr. Benevole grabbed his shoulder and forced him to sit up. Then he pushed the cup in Erik's hands. "Drink!" he ordered sternly.

Erik looked at the cup and decided it was less strenuous to drink than to fight the doctor. He did not want to fight now, he wanted nothing but to be left in peace. Forever, if possible. He put the empty cup down and sank back on his bed.

"Talk to me," Dr. Benevole demanded.

"Leave me alone," Erik snarled, but he did not manage to sound menacing, he was too exhausted, too depressed.

"After our talk, yes."

"What do you want? Get it over with!" Erik snapped irritated.

"How do you feel?"

"Like dead shit," Erik answered honestly. Both men fell silent for a long time. Finally it was Erik who spoke up first. "She said it was not my face but my mind that was deformed," he whispered, "I did not want to hurt her, but... I did."

Dr. Benevole nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. Erik obviously had needed to be pushed beyond any limits of his endurance to accept that he was not as sane as he thought he was.

Erik suddenly sat up and looked at the doctor. "She said she hoped you would be able to help me," he said, "Maybe she is right. Maybe I really need help. I do not want to be one of those vile men who beat up women. I do not want to hurt her when I lose my temper. She is wrong and she will accept that one day - and I will be there for her then. But I want to be the one she can come to whenever she needs help - I do not want to be the one she's running from. Can you help me with that?"

The doctor smiled. Finally. His patient was finally ready to admit that he needed help. "Yes, I do think so," he answered gently, "There are techniques to control your temper. I can teach you."

Erik nodded, he looked very sad but not as hopeless as before. Obviously he had found a way to live with Christine's choice - he was sure she would come back one day and he would patiently wait for her. This was surely not what the doctor had hoped for, but as long as it would not harm anyone, this was not high on his priority list.

"I want to be Christine's friend, if I can't be anything else. The one she can trust with everything, the one she can turn to whenever she needs help," Erik said, "Can you teach me how to be a friend? I don't know... I never had any friend."

* * *

Erik's attitude changed dramatically. He no longer was the self-confident man feeling superior to everyone. He was torn between accepting Christine's refusal and giving up all hope and carefully nurturing that tiny hope that he might build up a friendship with her so she would one day come back to him when she recognized her relationship with the Vicomte was a mistake. He could not let go of that tiny hope, he needed it so he would not kill himself. Far too often he thought about hanging himself in his room, ending his life of suffering. But every time he tried he lost his determination when the instinct kicked in and the lack of air caused panic - he would always free himself from the noose before he lost consciousness and might have died.

The training with the doctor was unusual. The doctor tried his best to teach Erik different techniques to keep his temper in check and then he tried to provoke him so he could use them, but Erik was far too depressed to feel any anger. He sat there, listened to what he was told, but he could not bring himself to do anything more. They spend weeks like that, the doctor telling him something and Erik not really listening and not able to participate.

Nothing could get Erik's attention, not even when the doctor told him that he had seen the wolf hunting a rabbit with her little ones. Erik did not even react when the doctor sat down at the piano and played something. Dr. Benevole was no pianist but he could play a little bit. He had hoped to get Erik's attention but Erik didn't even bother to tell him that his playing was not good.

Dr. Benevole noticed that Erik suddenly insisted in wearing shawls despite the warm weather. It was summer, so why would he wear a shawl? "Are you cold?" he asked.

As usual, Erik did not show much reaction other than a indifferent shrug. Dr. Benevole slowly edged closer and grabbed the shawl. He was shocked to see the bruises on his patient's throat. "What have you done?" the doctor gasped horrified. He had thought Erik was one of those men who would turn their aggression against others and not against themselves. At least he knew that Erik had always hurt or threatened others when he was upset.

"Not enough," Erik answered in an emotionless voice as if he was talking about something utterly boring.

"You tried to kill yourself!"

"I didn't succeed. What a surprise - when did I ever accomplish in anything?"

"When did you try to hang yourself?" the doctor demanded.

Erik shrugged again and lifted his hands, showing seven fingers.

"Seven times? My god!" the doctor gasped, "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you ask for help?"

That got Erik's attention and he asked: "Would you have helped me? I'd prefer to die painlessly. Maybe an overdose of some sleeping drug?"

"No, certainly not! Erik, you suffer a clinical depression, you certainly need help to overcome that!"

Erik turned away and stared out of the window. "Why do you keep feeding me? I would have died of dehydration long ago if you hadn't forced me to eat and drink. There is nothing to live for. Nothing at all. My life is such a waste - I can't do anything, I don't have anything to live for, no one will ever like me. If God had any mercy he would let me die."

"Erik, that is not true," Dr. Benevole objected gently, "There are so many things you can do. Your music..."

"...is worthless without **her** ," Erik snapped.

"But you do have so many talents, you are such a gifted man, surely you could do something with that, do something good and I am sure there will be people who can come to like you," Dr. Benevole said, trying to sound cheerful.

Erik sank down on his bed and covered his head with his pillow. Not a very mature behaviour, but Dr. Benevole understood it was better to leave him alone now.

* * *

A few days later the two doctors sat discussing the patients current condition.

"I think he suffered depression before," the supervising doctor said, "You see, while you have been trying to get him interested in anything, I read every newspaper article and I had two students look up every newspaper article they could find about the Phantom. And I had another one going through every police report concerning the opera house. The Phantom used to disappear for weeks, sometimes months, every so often. When he came back it was always with a spectacular scene to re-establish his dominance. I think that man is manic-depressive. In a depressive phase of that illness he hides like a wounded animal and in a manic phase he knows no limits and thinks he can accomplish everything he wants. That is when he is most dangerous - in a manic episode he knows no limits and focuses so much on his goals he does not see anything else. When he's depressed, he does nothing at all."

Dr. Benevole gave this some thought. "Maybe. After the chandelier crash he vanished for six months and came back at the masquerade dressed as Red Death demanding his opera to be staged. We have seen him in both states, I think, but failed to see it for we were too prejudiced by the label 'criminal insanity'. Maybe it is not criminal insanity at all, maybe it is just his manic episodes he can't control."

"You like him, don't you?" the supervising doctor warned, "He might be a manic-depressive man but at the same time he lacks every empathy. He's a sociopath. Have you seen how he reacted to the confrontation with two of his victims? He has an issue with sopranos."

"On the contrary, while he's obsessed with Mademoiselle Daae he hates La Carlotta," Dr. Benevole replied, "I thought about confronting him with other victims as well, but I was not sure - he suffered depression and we mistook it for lovesickness, he tried to kill himself right under our noses and we never knew. I am not sure if another confrontation will do any good."

"You said he might need to be pushed over any limits of his endurance before he accepts that he has to change somehow. Another confrontation might help him overcome his depression."

"What? Invite the managers and let him give them a lengthy lecture why they should turn over their office to him?"

The supervising doctor chuckled. He could imagine that all too well. "No, I got another letter. There is a woman who wants to see him."

"No, not another ballet rat who just wants to satisfy her curiosity! He's not an exotic animal in a zoo!" Dr. Benevole exclaimed angrily.

"No, her name is Madame Buquet. She's the widow of the stagehand he killed and she says she wants to see him face to face and ask him why he murdered her husband."

* * *

Erik was not happy when he was told who wanted to see him and refused outright to see her. "She has no right, I never even saw her, I did nothing to her. She does not qualify as victim, certainly not."

Dr. Benevole sighed. Obviously Erik was just recovering from the depression, which was good, but he had found his disputatiousness again. "You killed her husband," he replied, "Since he can't confront you now I think his widow as the closest relative certainly has that right now."

" **You** take the responsibility!" Erik snapped.

This time the meeting was arranged to be in the hall again, with all guards and care workers on alert. They would not risk another violent tantrum from Erik. If there was need to restrain him, they would see to it.

Erik wore a dark grey suit and paced the hall impatiently as the carriage that had fetched the woman arrived. Madame Buquet was an elderly woman with grey hair. She wore a shabby brown dress but no blouse and no shoes. She looked pale despite the summer sun, slim - her dress was too large on her - and had dark circles around the eyes.

She did not greet anyone, just went up to Erik to look at him. "I wanted to see you face to face," she demanded, "Not face to mask."

Erik inhaled sharply and answered coldly: "I will not being stared at like an animal in a zoo. If you have something to say, do so. If not, stop wasting my time." As cold and haughty as always. Both doctors sighed in annoyance.

"Then you are just a coward," Madame Buquet replied calmly. Erik reached up for his mask and wig and removed them, waiting for her to scream, to faint or to run in terror. She did nothing like that, she just looked at him and nodded.

"I guessed that much, you are deformed," Madame Buquet said, "I want to tell you about my husband. Joseph was a very kind man. Not a clever man, not an educated man, but a good-natured and hard working stagehand. We have five children and he was such a devoted father, he didn't just do his job as stagehand but had another job too running errands for the managers to earn the extra money we needed to pay the school fees. He wanted all our children to graduate and learn a decent profession so they would have a good live in the future."

Erik shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like to hear that the man he had killed was a good husband and father.

"I know he did talk a bit about you - but who didn't? Was that why you killed him? Because he gave a description of your face **that is not even true**?" Madame Buquet asked, still in full control of her emotions.

Erik shook his head slightly, still holding eye-contact with her, not replacing his mask or wig. It made him uncomfortable to have her looking in his face and showing no reaction at all. It would have been easier to hate her if she had shown any reaction at all, be it disgust, fear, hatred, whatever. But she did nothing, she looked at him with the same expression as she would look upon any other face. Maybe after all she knew about him, she had expected him to look even worse?

"No?" Madame Buquet seemed to be surprised, "Then why did you do it? Why did you kill my poor Joseph, the only man I ever loved, the man who loved me and our children so much? When he died you destroyed us with him. We couldn't pay the school fee, we couldn't pay the rent for our flat, we lost everything. My children and I are beggars on the street now, my eldest son is in prison for he stole some bread. You did not just kill Joseph - you destroyed all our lives. I would have kept silent if it was just about me - but my son is in prison, there's a mark on his record and he will never get any job, his life is ruined once and for all and he's just fourteen. My younger son and the three girls had to leave school and without any graduation they will never find any work. The girls tried to work in a factory but they are too young, they don't have the strength. I can't work for my right hand is crippled." She held up her hand - it looked like it had been smashed by something very heavy and healed together as a clump of disorganized flesh and bones. "With only one hand who would hire me? Monsieur, when you killed Joseph you condemned me and our five children to a fate worse than death."

Erik stood stock still and kept his face neutral as much as possible. He would have loved to clasp his hands over his ears or run away or shout at her for her words caused him so much pain. It was a physical pain he felt in his chest, as if she had stabbed him through the heart. He tried to hold back the tears that suddenly threatened to fall from his eyes and give away his weakness, trying to swallow the lump in his throat that made it difficult to breathe.

"I came here to ask you why you destroyed us all," Madame Buquet said, her voice trembling as she began to cry, "Why did you murder him? Why did you destroy us all? Just because he was in your way?"

"He wasn't even in my way," Erik whispered, his voice did not obey him now, "I just used him as a warning." He did not know what to do now. He felt like the whole weight of his guilt crushed down on him in that moment as he realized what he had done. He had not just murdered an innocent man, a man who had done nothing to deserve his wrath, and destroyed the lives of his wife and their children.

Madame Buquet still held eye contact but Erik could no longer. He lowered his eyes and his shoulders slumped in defeat. Could he tell her he was sorry? It was such an empty phrase after all he had done to her.

She turned round and started to leave, her head high, even dressed in rags and barefooted she had the dignity of a queen.

As soon as the door closed behind her Erik sank to the floor and curled up in a small ball, crying silently. Dr. Benevole signaled the other men to leave them alone, then knelt down beside Erik and gently touched his shoulder.

Erik's head jerked up and he looked at the doctor in utter despair. "I can't live with that," Erik whispered, "I can't."

"Come here," Dr. Benevole ordered gently and pulled him into his embrace, holding the other man like one would hold a child as Erik lost control of his emotions. He felt like the solid damn he had build to hold back the flood of guilt and remorse had crumbled and the tidal wave was drowning him. He no longer cared if the doctor might think him utterly mad or if he made a fool of himself, he allowed the doctor to hold him like a frightened child and cried in that pain that seemed to tear him apart.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Most people like to forget about Buquet as if he was not important. But I rather like to think that he was an ordinary working class man with a family. So his death would affect his wife and his children. Now Erik has to face the ugly consequences of the murder he committed so carelessly._


	12. Remorse

**Education of the Heart**

 **Remorse**

Erik sank into a deep depression after the confrontation with Madame Buquet. But this time he did open up to Dr. Benevole and spoke of what he was thinking now. At first he just tried to justify his murder, but try as he might, he did not find any excuse he himself could accept. He could not even say that the woman had treated him badly or with disgust when she had seen his face, she had done nothing and he remembered all to well what it was like to be a child in the streets of a cruel city.

It was a lovely sunny morning in late August. Dr. Benevole still insisted that Erik had to share the table with everyone else and needed a daily structure that resembled that of a normal man working each day, especially because it was difficult for Erik to adjust to any sort of regularity and and rules. They sat at breakfast, most men were in good spirits for nothing bad had happened in weeks, only Erik was staring at his cup of coffee that was cold by now and moved his food around on his plate without eating.

"It is unjust," he suddenly blurted out, "So damned **unjust**!"

"What is unjust?" Dr. Benevole asked, surprised by that sudden outburst.

Erik jumped to his feet and started pacing the room, gesticulating with his hands as he spoke. "This! **All** of this! It is despicable unjust! I sleep in a warm bed each night, I eat my fill each day, I have a piano and a library at my disposal and I am cared for by doctors. And they... they have nothing. No food, no shelter, no hope for a better future. They are in the gutter and the only change in their lives will be that they move from the gutter to prison and back to the gutter. Why do you care for **me**? Why do you spend so much money for **my** treatment? I am a murderer - they are innocent. **Why does no one care about them?** Why are they left alone and ignored by everyone? Why isn't there **one** person who cares for the victims?"

Dr. Benevole and the supervising doctor were speechless. They had expected everything, but not that. But very soon Dr. Benevole decided that this was an opportunity he could not allow to pass. "If you feel like that, why don't **you** do something for them?" he suggested, pointing at Erik, "After all, you **caused** their misery in the first place, so it would only be fair if you try to help them now."

Erik stopped pacing and looked at the doctor bewildered. It had never come to his mind that he could do anything for them. But the doctor's words made sense. He should do something, if no one else did.

"I would like to give them money," he said, talking more to himself than to anyone else, "So they can rent a flat and buy food and go to school. But... I have nothing right now. You wouldn't allow me to return to the opera and get my purse, would you?"

"Certainly not!" Dr. Benevole exclaimed.

Erik gave a sigh. "Then it seems I need a job. I am allowed to work, isn't it?"

The supervising doctor shrugged: "We planned this much later in your therapy, but if it is your own wish we can ask Clemenceau for permission."

"Why would I need his permission?" Erik asked confused.

"Because technically you are a prisoner. If you want to go to work you need a permission from the magistrate," the supervising doctor explained, "And you need our statement that you are not dangerous, plus you will have to report to us regularly."

Erik nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes, that is a very good idea."

"You have to know that since you are a prisoner it will be very hard to find any job at all for you," Dr. Benevole warned him, "You will have to accept whatever they offer you. It might be degrading, disgusting work, surely nothing adequate to your intelligence and skills."

"Like working in the sewers?" Erik answered, "I would do that."

* * *

Dr. Benevole traveled to Paris to report to Clemenceau that they finally made a breakthrough and hoped to test Erik's ability to earn his livelihood with honest work. Clemenceau was skeptical. "Your last report stated that he felt he was above human law," he stated, "What makes you think he changed his mind?"

"He no longer sees himself as the victim but accepted that he is guilty and shows remorse," Dr. Benevole told him, "He genuinely wishes to help the widow Buquet and her children."

"Does he know the eldest boy serves a sentence for theft and is going to be released in a few weeks?"

"Yes, he does, and he wants to earn money so he can provide a home and food for them, to get them out of the gutter."

"Are you sure this is not a trick to escape?" Clemenceau asked.

Dr. Benevole laughed: "Escape? No. Do you honestly think we could have held him against his will? He outsmarted all of us several times. If he wanted to run he would have done so long ago."

"I trust your professional opinion," Clemenceau answered and the doctor felt very uncomfortable now, "There is a business enterprise which hires criminals who served their time and mentally ill people. He can work as garbage collector. They always are short of drivers for the dust carts."

"He won't like that," the doctor sighed.

"Tell him he can be driver of a dust cart or nothing," Clemenceau answered, "And make sure he understands that if he commits the tiniest moral obliquity, he loses **all** of his privileges and goes to prison to stand trial for all of his crimes."

* * *

"Driver of a garbage cart in Paris?" Erik's temper flared, "Does this stuffed-up..." He took a deep breath and forced himself to unclench his hands, trying to control himself.

"You mustn't forget this is not over and done with. Technically you are a prisoner. That you are allowed to roam the streets and have a job at all is highly unusual."

"But if you declare me cured one day, then I can go and find another job?"

"Of course, then you will be a free man."

Erik took a deep breath and looked out of the window. It was late August and soon autumn would come with rain and coldness. "I accept. But I need your help - how did you find Madame Buquet? I need to give her the money somehow."

"She visits her son each week in prison."

* * *

Dr. Benevole decided to take Erik to Paris himself where Clemenceau waited for them. Erik was not happy that he had to wear normal work cloths and boots. He could not wear a wig so he used a brown cap. It was humiliating to be led by these two men to the owner of the garbage collection service. That man was a small, wiry man who looked a bit like a skinny wolf. He wore thick glasses.

He got up to greet Clemenceau friendly. "I understand from your note that you have a man who's willing to work as a driver?" he said and Clemenceau pointed to Erik who tried not to let his pride get in his way now.

"I'm Gontier," the wiry man said and held out his hand.

"Erik Morriere," Erik answered and reluctantly shook hands.

"I need to see if you can really control a dust cart," Gontier said and showed them the areal. It was a rather large building next to the dumping grounds, the smell from the dumping grounds was everywhere. There were stables for the horses, the hardstanding for the carts, a building for the office and the flat of the owner, outdoor-toilets and a faucet to fetch water.

In the stable were four large horses, all of them heavy horses, one was a percheron horse and two were larger mixed-breeds and empty boxes for the horses were currently pulling carts. The largest horse was gelding, a shire horse with nearly two meters hands high. Erik stared at the gelding, this was the largest horse he had ever seen. "This is Thunder. He's the strongest horse but not easy to handle," Gontier warned.

"I'll give it a try," Erik said. He carefully approached the horse. No fast movements, nothing that would alarm the giant spotted horse. He led the horse gently out of its box and to the backyard where he tied him to a column. Then he went to the carts and pulled one of them towards the horse, which was not easy for the cart was heavy, but he managed to do it and finally he managed to hitch up Thunder.

"First test passed," Gontier informed Clemenceau.

Erik climbed on the driver's seat and took the reins. He drove the cart a few rounds in the rather large backyard, sometimes even moving it backwards just to show he could do even that.

"Not bad," Gontier decided, "You have the job. Do you have a room somewhere or do you need a place to stay for the night?"

Erik turned towards Clemenceau and Benevole. He did not know if he would have to spend the night at some place like a prison or a hospital. "Is he up to that?" Clemenceau asked the doctor.

"I'm not sure," the doctor answered, "I'd prefer to have him in a hospital."

"Don't worry, I have a bed for you. You see, I provide rooms for my workers, of course the rent is deducted from your payment, if you care to have a look? I have a room for mentally sick men."

Dr. Benevole was about to call the whole idea off, but Gontier led them to a room and opened the door. "Meet your co-workers," he said.

Erik stared at the tree men that sat on their beds in the small room. It was a rather small room with two beds, two men had to share a bed, and a table with four chairs. There was a small wood-burning stove. Nothing else. The tree men were small and a bit too thick, their eyes were almond-shaped. They were Mongoloids.

"This is Erik, your new driver. He's the boss so you do as he says, understood?" Gontier told them. The three men nodded and got up, approaching Erik who stood stock-still and had no idea what he could do now. He had never had much contact with people whose mental capacity was rather small and Mongoloids were said to be stupid.

One of them pointed to his mask. "What?" he asked.

"Don't touch it!" Erik pushed him away roughly, "I don't want anyone to see my face." He looked at the three men and noticed that they had not understood what he said. He decided to try in mono-syllabic sentences. "Hurt. No touch!"

One of them came to him and hugged him. Erik was too shocked to react in any way. "Mama say with hug hurt less," the Mongoloid man said and suddenly the three of them tried to hug him and kiss his mask.

"Are you sure he's up to this?" Clemenceau asked, "After all, we know his criminal record. He's still mentally instable."

"No, definitely not. This is nothing we can risk," Dr. Benevole decided, "Erik? We have to find something else."

Erik looked at the three men who were trying to touch him and comfort him. He took off his cap and reached for his cap, never taking his eyes off them. Then he removed the mask. They did not show disgust or fear, they smiled at him and edged even closer, one laid his hand on Erik's deformed cheek. "Better with hug," the Mongoloid man said.

"I don't want to try anything else," Erik decided, his voice shaking as tears welled up in his mismatched eyes, "I already like my co-workers."

* * *

Two weeks later Madame Buquet came from her weekly visit to her son, she knew the following week she would be allowed to take him home - even if there was no home they could go to. Suddenly she saw a man wearing a mask. The Phantom! Had he escaped? But if he was on the run, would he dare to come near a prison?

"Madame Buquet?" Erik said and took off his cap, twisting it in his hands like a shy boy. He was trembling despite the warm weather and shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

"Madame, please, last time you wanted me to hear what you had to say. Now I beg for the same favour. Please, just listen to me," he sounded like a frightened child. Madame Buquet nodded. "Madame, I know there can be no forgiveness for what I have done. But I am able to ease your misery a little bit." He reached into his pocket and took out a bank note and some coins and held them out to her. "Next week I can give you more, I promise," he said.

She looked at his hand and the money, but she did not take it. "I don't need your money," she said icily, "I don't want it."

"Please," Erik tried again, "I need to do this. Do not worry, it is not stolen."

"No."

"You need a place to stay and you need food and... shoes. Soon it will be autumn and then winter. Your children need shelter," Erik pleaded with her, "I understand that you want nothing from me - but please take it for your children. Send them to school again, if possible. Please. I can't give you your husband back, but I can provide for you and your children. Please, let me do this."

She took the money, saying: "I would gladly refuse but as a mother I have to do what's best for my children."

Erik handed her a small piece of paper where he had taken down where he was living now. "Next Saturday I get the next payment. Let me know where you live so I can send it to you."

"No. You will not send it. You will come yourself," she said, "I want you to see my children's sad eyes each time so you never forget that day you murdered my poor beloved Joseph."

"Yes, Madame," Erik answered. He was not able to deny her anything right now, merely looking at her all too slim body in that ragged and dirty dress was painful.

When she left he turned to Dr. Benevole, who had stood aside watching them. "I'm no longer sure I can do this," Erik mumbled, "It is too painful."

Dr. Benevole placed his hand on Erik's shoulder. "I told you it would be painful. But it is the right way. What you are feeling is the natural remorse for your crime, that is a very good sign. You are actually recovering and it will be a very long and painful way until I can declare you cured. So it is settled - every Sunday afternoon you report to me. Gontier and Clemenceau will keep an eye on you."

"I know. Try something stupid and I face trial and the Guillotine, I understand. Don't worry, I can't afford to risk that right now. I can't let them down."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _I'm not sure if I can update that regularly in the next weeks. Maybe it will be just one chapter a week. I beg your indulgence._

 _May I ask you that you leave a review?_


	13. Step by Step

**Education of the Heart**

 **Step by Step**

Erik had a very hard time to adjust to his new life. It was a very long drop down from the comfortable life in the hospital to the hardships of working as garbage collector. He had to get up very early for the garbage carts were busy in the streets before normal people would get up. He had to drive the cart from 3 a.m. to 3 p.m.

At first he would drive slowly so the street sweepers could load the garbage they had collected. Then he had to drive the cart to the dumping grounds to have it unloaded. His next task was to collect the garbage from some houses. He would drive and his three helpers would load the garbage, but if it was too heavy for them he had to help, which was very often.

In the first weeks he was not accustomed to heavy labour, he was strong and agile, but every afternoon when he finally finished work his back hurt so badly he had to lie down and could barely move. The worst was being constantly watched by policemen. Clemenceau knew just how dangerous this man could be and did not trust Dr. Benevole's opinion that he was no longer dangerous, so he had policemen on patrol who "by chance" would see if he showed up where he should be in time. They kept a close watch at first, but after three weeks started to relax for nothing happened.

Erik soon learned that his income was not enough to provide for a family. It was enough so they would not starve, but they needed a room and clothes and he could not afford that without giving up his bed in the shabby room and living as homeless himself. But he could not ask Dr. Benevole to allow him to live in the hospital - that would be much worse for he liked what little freedom he had now. It was not much, but at least he did no longer feel like a prisoner.

Living with the three Mongoloid men was not difficult. They were so very friendly and accepted him unconditionally as their new best friend. He didn't even have to do or say anything, he was there and they liked him. It was difficult to understand what they wanted to tell him at times but they never mocked him or screamed. They did not fear him, to them he was their big, clever friend to whom they could look up to. In that they were childlike, even if they were not much younger than he was.

Driving the cart was not as bad as he had feared it would be - in the early morning no one was in the streets except homeless people, drunken or drugged people, prostitutes and street sweepers. No one cared about his mask, no one bothered to look.

"That is where I belong - at the very bottom of society," Erik mumbled bitterly, "With criminals, idiots and drunkards."

"On bottom of teacup is the **sugar** ," one Mongoliod man said. Erik looked at him in surprise. Could it be that this man had understood him? Maybe he was not just a friendly idiot at all, maybe this man had much more intelligence than he was given credit for.

"Tell me your name," Erik asked.

"I'm Dede. That's Rene and that's Jules."

"Dede? What kind of name is Dede?" Erik asked and forgot to speak in short sentences with easy words.

"Maximilan is too long. So I'm Dede," Dede answered and Erik stared at him open-mouthed. He had gravely underestimated that man.

At daytime it was not difficult either - Erik covered his masked face with a scarf as if he was trying to protect himself from the stench from the garbage. And no one ever cared to look at garbage collectors. No one looked at them as if people were afraid to get infected by their lowly status if they so much as watched them. He could be seen - but no one cared to look. They looked at the dust cart as if it was garbage itself, horse, cart and workers included.

What he hated and feared most were Saturdays. Most workers went to the office and got their payment from Gontier, then went to the next inn to drink and have fun. Erik had to decide how much he would need himself and how much he could give Madame Buquet. She was still living in the streets with her five children, all of them dirty and far too thin. Especially the oldest boy had a strange look in his eyes, there was a deep pain Erik recognized as something similar to his own. But he could not give them what he did not have - of course, he could always try stealing or blackmail again, but right now he knew he was being closely watched and had to be cautious. He would need to find another way.

* * *

Clemenceau was surprised to find the reports regarding "the experiment" positive. Nearly no one had really believed that criminal insanity could be cured but right now that man seemed to be recovering - he still behaved oddly, but what he did was nothing illegal. And the reports he got from Gontier - who knew that the magistrate liked to be informed how the criminals on parole behaved - were most encouraging unlike most other reports he got. Most criminals did not stay out of trouble for long, but this madman seemed to be able to control himself and tried to avoid any trouble now.

Dr. Benevole was happy to learn that Erik had no problems at all with his co-workers, on the contrary, he liked them. As if the four men had some way of communication mentally healthy men would never have. Erik tried to have them around him all the time as if he needed an alibi for whatever crime might happen, for he deeply mistrusted the authorities and was sure they would gladly blame him for something he did not do. So he had the three men with him even when he kept his appointment with Dr. Benevole each Sunday.

For the three Mongoloid men it was a chance to get tea and chocolate, something they wouldn't get otherwise. Dr. Benevole was not happy at first because everything was about them. Erik treated them as if they were schoolboys and he their teacher. He did not talk much about himself, keeping his thoughts hidden, hiding behind a false act of playfulness like a hermit crab in its shell.

Dr. Benevole learned that Erik had decided to be an example of virtue now. He would convince everyone that he was not only sane but even less dangerous than any normal man. But the doctor was not fooled by Erik's act. He was sure to see a cleverly staged show in which Erik acted the part of the repentant sinner, maybe even overdoing his role a bit. Of course Erik seemed to open up to him when he came to tell him of some difficulties like feeling humiliated by what job he had to do, complaining about how unfair society treated certain classes in general and him in particular. There were troubles with co-workers - not his three friends, but others - because they called them "the freak cart" and mocked them. Being a pariah among pariahs when he still considered himself belonging into another class was something Erik could not accept.

* * *

And then the troubles began, just as Dr. Benevole had expected. It started with a report form Gontier that one of his garbage workers - another criminal on parole - had died in a cart accident. Nothing special, it went to the archive, Clemenceau didn't give it a second glance. But soon after that a report from the opera came in - there had been a suspect accident during a performance. Carlotta's sash had caught fire and she had barely managed to rip it off and throw it away. No one had been injured, but the performance had to be canceled.

There certainly was a man who knew how to let accidents happen. Clemenceau send a note to Dr. Benevole and together they went to Gontier, who was not at all surprised to see them. "He told me you would suspect him first," he said, "Erik is in the backyard at the faucet."

They found Erik together with Dede, Rene and Jules. They had large baskets with them full of things people had thrown away and were busy carefully cleaning them.

"Monsieur Morriere," Clemenceau called out to him.

"Messieurs, to what to I owe the honour of this visit?" Erik asked with an elegant bow, his demeanor a stark contrast to his shabby clothing.

"Where have you been last Friday and Thursday the week before?" Clemenceau asked.

"Working, as always," Erik answered lightly, "They can testify that I was with them."

"Erik is always with us," Rene said and the other two nodded.

"There have been accidents..." Dr. Benevole said.

"Yes, I heard about that," Erik answered, shaking his head sadly, "Poor guy, but I told them not to drink that much. I was sure something like that would happen if they continued to drink regularly." He looked at the two men, then pretended to realize just now that they suspected him. "What? You think **I** would have caused that accident? Why should I do such a stupid thing?"

"You killed without any reason before," Clemenceau reminded him angrily, "Tell me why I should not arrest you right now?"

"Because this time I did nothing, really. I have not even been there!"

"But you know exactly what I am talking about, don't you?" Clemenceau asked.

Erik nodded. "Of course. The cart accident."

"The opera?"

Now Erik was alarmed. "The opera? What happened?" His surprise was genuine, he really did not know about any accident at the opera. "Was Christine... Um, was **anyone** injured?"

"No, but it looked like your handwriting," Clemenceau stated.

"I **never** even came close to the opera!" Erik exclaimed angrily, "As if I had any time for **games** right now."

This was truly a curious statement, considering just how serious the situation was. Erik turned to his three helpers and they more or less echoed: "Opera? Never." "Not our way." "Where is opera?"

"Get yourself a better alibi. They are not really trustworthy witnesses," Dr. Benevole answered.

"On the contrary. They are honest men or do you really think they are clever enough to come up with any believable lie?" Erik retorted angrily, "If you excuse me, I have work to do."

When they went away, discussing if they could believe him or not, Dede ran after them. "He always been with us," he exclaimed, "Always. Never did anything. Always with us."

"And have you been at the opera?" Clemenceau asked.

"No, never. Not our way," Dede insisted.

"Has he ever touched another cart than the one he's driving?" Clemenceau asked.

Dede had to think hard, then his face lit up and he answered: "No. Cart-cleaning is our job."

* * *

Soon after that Erik began to tell Dr. Benevole of the difficulties he faced to stay out of trouble. Since he was not willing to endure the taunting and mockery of the other workers they had some fights and he cheerfully told that he had to break a few noses before they agreed to leave him and his friends in peace. Of course the others had not told the police. In the slums where they lived the police was the common enemy and no one would ever tell anything to the police. But then Erik's mood suddenly changed and he started complaining about how badly he was treated by everyone again. Dr. Benevole already knew this, Erik surely was easily offended even by things most men would just accept as normal. As long as he just complained and would not relapse into his old criminal ways it would be acceptable. Dr. Benevole even suggested to his supervising colleague that maybe complaining about everything might help Erik to calm down enough he did no longer feel the need to punish the offender - or putative offender.

Christine Daae send a note to the doctor, asking him how she should react for Erik started to write letters to her again. The letters were polite and friendly, but she was not sure if she could answer them without giving him false hope. In his letters he just told her how sorry he was and that he wanted to have some sort of normal friendship with her when he finally would be a free man. Just a good friend of the family, nothing more. He just wanted to know she was well and happy, nothing else.

That was certainly not a very encouraging sign, but when Erik stated he felt it had been a mistake to talk to Madame Buquet at all, the doctor felt all his inner alarms going off.

"She's a ungrateful old crone," Erik nearly shouted, "I don't know why I thought I ought to help her. She does not appreciate anything I do for her. And I really do a lot - they have a home now and can buy food and I even gave them clothing. But they never ever have any kind word for me, nothing, they take every sacrifice for granted. Do you think it is easy to live like I do? I earn enough for one person to survive - and I manage to care for them too but they never find any kind word to me."

Dr. Benevole had a hard time controlling his own temper now and not slap his patient. "And what reason would she have to thank you? **You murdered her husband!** You destroyed their lives and what you are doing now is like a drop in the bucket! Do you really expect her to be grateful for **that**?"

Erik stared at the doctor for a while, giving his statement some thought. He was about to retort something when Dede cut in, his speech nearly unintelligible for all the chocolate he had in his mouth: "Doctor's right. Why angry when doctor's right?"

Erik took a deep breath and his face softened. "O Dede, maybe I am angry **because** he is right. I hate to hear something like that. It is so much easier to blame the cruelty of the world for everything but right now I have to admit that in this case it is my own fault."

Jules hugged Erik, leaving chocolate imprints of his hands on Erik's shirt. "Not cry. Not cry," Jules said soothingly.

"I still wonder why you keep them with you all the time?" Dr. Benevole asked, "They are idiots."

"They are **genius**!" Erik exclaimed furiously, "How can you, a **doctor** , not see that? They might not be able to use proper language, they might not be able to count to three, but they have a knowledge I will never possess. They read my feelings no matter how hard I try to conceal them, they react to nuances I do not even recognize myself, they have so much empathy it is as if they could see right through everybody's heart."

"What is genius?" Rene asked, "Good?"

"Yes, a genius is someone very very clever. And that is a good thing to be," Erik explained smiling.

"Then Erik is genius," Rene stated and searched the chocolate box if there was any tiny crumb of chocolate left.

"You've got to like them," Erik sighed wearily.

* * *

It was late autumn when Clemenceau and Dr. Benevole got a note from Gontier who asked them to see something themselves or they would not believe it. They hurried to the dumping site, worried what might have happened - with a man like Erik everything was possible, maybe he had fooled them again?

"I hope for your sake that you did not make a mistake declaring him **not dangerous** ," Clemenceau snapped and Dr. Benevole shuddered. Maybe this whole experiment had been a mistake, maybe criminals - especially insane ones - were best kept behind bars without any chance of release.

The doctor relaxed visibly when he saw Gontier greeting them with a happy smile. "Come with me - from my office you can see everything," he said, "But don't let them know that you are watching or they won't do it."

It was close to 3 p.m. and the carts were coming back after unloading at the dumping grounds. Gontier checked his watch: "They are always the latest to return and soon you'll understand why. That Erik Morriere you send me is a really clever guy. I wish I had known him sooner - to think what I could have earned all those years!" He opened the window and said grinning: "Listen."

They could hear Erik's voice, he was singing some simple melody. Only moments later they heard the three men singing along. When their song came to end the three helpers begged for one more song. "O no, we had that twenty times today!" Erik groaned.

"Sixteen," Dede corrected and they laughed.

Gontier turned to Dr. Benevole: "They could not count to three before he came. Dede is my nephew, that's why I took him and his two friends in, to save them from the asylum. That's why I am always willing to give mentally ill men a chance. But this is a miracle!"

The garbage cart rolled into the backyard they could overlook from the office window.

Erik was driving, behind him stood the three Mongoloid men on the cart. They had large baskets full of something they obviously had taken from the garbage. Erik started to sing and the three men soon sang along happily. They didn't hit the notes but they were having so much fun the notes didn't really matter.

" _One and one is two_  
 _And the cow says MOOO_

 _Two and one is three_  
 _Squirrel on a tree_

 _Three and one is four_  
 _Let me sing once more_

 _Four and one is five_  
 _Never use a knife..._ "

They counted to twenty in that song while they unharnessed the horse, cleaned the cart and stored it in the hardstand, while Erik brushed the horse before he led the gelding to the stable. After that they started to carry the baskets with the garbage to a storeroom.

"Which day is Monday?" Erik asked.

"The way we meet the cat-lady," Dede answered, obviously referring to their route that day.

"And what next?"

"Tuesday!" Jules cried out.

Rene added: "We pass the rich man's house."

Gontier turned to Clemenceau and Dr. Benevole who were smiling with relief. Nothing bad, on the contrary, the experiment seemed to have worked better than they had ever dared to hope for. "Come with me," Gontier said, "From the first floor there is a window to oversee the storeroom. Just watch them."

The three men stood at the window to the storeroom. The storeroom was full with various things. It looked rather like a warehouse than a storeroom of a garbage collecting business. Erik and his three helpers started to go through the baskets. They had collected things rich people would throw away but they could be cleaned and repaired. These things would not look good but they were usable.

Dede started to take apart three broken chairs to build a new one.

Rene was cleaning a dress that had a large blotch of black ink. The dress would look funny but it was still wearable.

Jules climbed into a treadmill and started to walk. As soon as he did electric light bulbs were lit at a desk. Dr. Benevole's eyes widened. "Since when do you have a generator? Only few buildings here in Paris do," he asked.

"I don't," Gontier answered, "It is no generator. It is just... I don't know... as long as someone runs in the treadmill the bright electric light is on. He needs that for the tiny things he repairs. Sometimes he repairs watches or builds a new one from several broken watches, sometimes he makes music boxes or something like that. All things are made from garbage and they cost nothing."

"But you sell them?" Clemenceau asked.

"Of course!" Gontier laughed, "Do you think a woman from the slums cares if her dress has an ink-blotch? That the chair's armrests don't match? That the cups of the set do not match at all? They are happy that they get anything at all a price they can pay. You see, his idea was so good I had to hire a seamstess and a shoe repairer. I have a little second-hand-shop now where I sell what they saved from the garbage. Care to see?"

He led them through a few dirty sidestreets. The stench was awful, obviously there were no sewers there and the sewage just ran through the gutter canal. The streets were covered with earth, mud and filth. The houses were small, dark, most had no windows only wooden shutters or some rags as curtains. From every house came much noise, obviously they were hopelessly overcrowded.

"One family each room," Clemenceau said, "And sometimes they take in bed lodgers too. I hope no one recognizes me as policeman or I am as good as dead."

Dr. Benevole shuddered. This was a quarter he had never thought he would go willingly.

Gontier more or less dragged Dr. Benevole and Clemenceau into the tiny shop. The shop was just one large room. A curtain separated the living space for the shop assistant from the actual shop.

"Madame Buquet?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"You know each other?" Clemenceau questioned, raising one eyebrow.

"Yes, she... she is the widow of the stagehand **he** killed," the doctor explained and Clemenceau tried hard not to ask anything that might hurt or offend the woman right now.

"Messieurs, may I help you?" she asked, obviously not recognizing the doctor, "Are you looking for something special? We usually don't have anything rich people would buy." Of course their clothing had given away that they did not belong there.

"Show them our watches, please," Gontier asked and winked at Dr. Benevole.

"Yes, of course, sir," the woman said and opened a drawer. There were several watches, they looked like they were put together from different broken watches. All were ticking.

"These are really special," she said and took out one rather ordinary looking watch.

"It runs backwards," Clemenceau noticed, "This one really runs backwards."

"Some like these watches to astonish their friends," Madame Buquet explained, "If you have a job where you ride a horse all day long I'd suggest this one: It winds itself up if you shake it enough. But most men don't move enough so they have to wind it up once a week."

"A watch that winds itself up? Who has such ideas?" Clemenceau asked, now he was really impressed.

Gontier grinned as he answered: "The man you send me as dust cart driver. He asked me to give him the exclusive residential area routes - you would be surprised what they throw away - and started sorting out things he could repair or even improve. All you see in this shop is made from garbage, so even poor people can buy it. But some of the watches are even bought by wealthy people, mostly students who like to show off."

"And your shopkeeper?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"Was his idea. It was a deal - if I wanted to make profit from garbage I had to hire her. This Erik Morriere is a curious man, I must say," Gontier explained and Madame Buquet flinched at that name and turned away to hide her feelings, "He is fond of the three Mongoloid men, he teaches them various things and he even demanded that I pay them. You see, they are lucky not to be in an asylum, when had any idiot ever received a salary? But he... Monsieur, please don't use that against him... he threatened me that he would know ways to ruin my business if I would not give them some payment. At first I wanted to report him for blackmail, but then... You see, he cares for them so much, he does not see them as useless idiots who had to be grateful to be out of an asylum." Gontier sighed. "Dede is my nephew. I used to see him as a friendly idiot and a heavy burden in my life, but this Erik Morriere - he does not. I do not know what he sees in them, but surely not a burden."

Clemenceau picked up another watch. That one was rather large and when it was 5 p.m. it played a simple tune. "A pocket watch with music?" he asked.

"We have other watches as well," Madame Buquet had recovered from the pain she felt whenever Erik Morriere was mentioned. But he was the one who could make watches from nothing but garbage. As humiliating as it was, he was the one who made sure her children were not on the streets and would not starve. It was not much, but at least they were no longer homeless beggars. With a heavy sigh she showed them three grandfather clocks which would play a certain tune each hour. "He combined music boxes with clocks," she said.

Dr. Benevole purchased the pocket watch with the music. It was a fascinating item, even if it looked rather odd, large as it was and made of several broken watches.

When Clemenceau and Dr. Benevole were on their way back, Clemenceau shook his head and said: "I wouldn't have believed it if I had not seen it with my own eyes. It seems your experiment works well, this man seems to be cured from his madness. He learned to put his creative mind to something good instead of blackmail and murder. Let's hope he does not relapse."

Dr. Benevole nodded. "He still is under surveillance and has a very tight schedule each day. It is easy to stay out of trouble if you have not one minute a day without anyone to watch you. Let's hope he's ready for the next steps."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


	14. Facing Reality

**Education of the Heart**

 **Facing Reality**

Erik hated Saturdays. Really hated them. It was another rainy Saturday evening as he walked in the darkness through the mud of the streets, the stench of the slum being at least partly washed away by the cold rain, people who had shelter staying indoors due to the weather so he was almost alone walking the dark streets, his heavy boots sinking into the mud ankle-deep. He had hoped facing the widow Buquet would become easier after some time, but it did not. Sometimes he hated her, hated her and thought about hundreds of possible ways to get rid of her - planning the perfect murder no one would ever suspect him, not even Dr. Benevole or the magistrate Clemenceau, who kept an eye on him, and surely not Gontier who seemed to like Erik. Like him, but certainly not trust him, not in the slightest. But then there was the Moment when he had to step over the threshold and saw her and her five children, he immediately forgot all his gruesome plans and felt the terrible need to beg their forgiveness, knowing they would never grant it.

Madame Buquet was determined never to let Erik forget what he had done. She had started to introduce Erik to her children. At first he had just nodded to them, but not even listened to their names. He did not want to know their names. Give something a Name and it becomes more personal and it is not as easy to see it as inanimate, fungible object. That's why Erik preferred to call his managers just "his managers" and not by their names, if possible. It made it easier to threaten them and to prepare himself to get rid of them, should the need arise. But Madame Buquet introduced him to her children, all of them, each Saturday and try as he might his brain eventually refused to forget their names.

The oldest boy was Joseph. Named after his father. A good boy until his father died and they lost everything. He had felt the need to help his mother and his siblings, pretending he was the head of the family, so he had stolen food when they had not been able to get enough money begging - until he had been arrested and sentenced to a few month in prison. Whatever had happened to him in prison, he never talked about it, but he had changed strongly. He was no longer the good boy, he refused to obey his mother, often screamed at her and hit his younger siblings. He somehow had managed to pass the test and graduate from school, but he did not find any Job and spend his days with his new friends. Friends his mother strongly disapproved of, boys from the slum, from families with bad reputations. Most men in the slums were drunkards, smoked and abused wife and children. In almost every family some members were currently serving a sentence. Prostitution - at least occasional prostitution - was common practice for women and children, even younger men, as well as theft, fraud, burglary and violence. Joseph spend far too much time with boys his age, learning to smoke, to bully smaller children and women and discussing how to earn money. "Earning money" in their language had nothing to do with honest work.

The second oldest, 13, one year younger than Joseph, was Maurice. A rather quiet boy who never caused any Problems, but he was far too slim and his mother worried about his frail health in the cold house where there was too much mould and moisture that would never get out of the moist and dirty walls.

There was Marie, 10, a rather plain girl who gave her mother much worries for she admired the "fancy dresses" the whores wore and spend much time with three girls, daughters of whores, who lived in a brothel and thought it normal that their virginity would be auctioned to the highest bidder.

Jeanne, 7, a strong-willed girl who had a very clear idea what her life should be like. She had no illusions when it came to who might marry her - she was a girl in the slums, she wouldn't find a prince or a rich man, but she wanted to work in a factory so she could marry a foreman and have many children. She loved children.

Claire, 6, was the opposite. She dreamed she was some sort of Cinderella and sometimes either a prince would marry her or a rich aristocratic family would recognize her as their long lost daughter and she would be happily ever after.

Erik heaved a deep sigh and turned up the collar of his ragged greyish-green cloak, then he crossed his arms before his breast, trying to keep warm. He wished he had gloves, but there was no money and he had not found any repairable gloves in the garbage. He had asked Gontier if he could have gloves, but was told to buy them from his own income, which he had not been able to do so far for he knew Madame Buquet needed all he could give her to pay the school fees. She and her children lived in the small shop, so they had some sort of shelter, but food was not cheap and school fees unpayable for her. Erik could pay them, even give her enough to buy some extra food, but that was all he could do. He knew perfectly well that they would starve if he would be the only one earning money for them.

And he himself - he had enough for the rent of half a bed. Only half a bed, he shared it with Dede, Rene and Jules had to share the other bed. Since he had taken over the duty to care for his three friends he felt it was only fair that they would get payment and he helped them to decide what to do with their money. They would save part of their income and the rest would be spend for necessary things like food. Maybe it was a bit unfair, but Erik took more of their money to buy food for the four of them, he had decided since he did so much for them they could help him a bit. He had told them why he did so and why he thought it fair and they had agreed but he was not sure if they had fully understood his arguments or just trusted him unconditionally.

He had reached the dirty little house in the slums were the second hand shop was. Right now he wished he had not declined his friend's offer to come with him on his awkward gait. His stomach churned and he was glad not to have eaten anything that day, he knew better than to eat on Saturdays now. Before he could knock on the door he needed to hide somewhere in the shadows around the next corner and relieve himself. It was always the same, he never managed to go there and just knock the door, it cost him all of his strength to go there at all.

Erik finally forced himself to knock on the door. He heared someone move and then the door was opened. Madame Buquet stepped aside to allow him to enter. Erik stopped a few steps inside and took off his cap. He shivered in his wet clothing. The room was not really warmer than the street, it was less wet, that was all. His boots were caked with mud and he did not want to cause more trouble than necessary so he did not move much. The floor was nothing but earth, but he knew the mud of the streets to consist of far too much filth.

"Good evening, Madame Buquet," he said softly, unable to control his voice.

The woman looked up at him, her eyes red as if she had been crying. "Good evening, Monsieur Morrier," she replied. She always was polite, which made it only harder on him. He wished she would insult him, spit in his face or even abuse him - he would gladly endure it. It would be much easier than her always polite behaviour. God, he was a monster, he was a freak, a criminal, the murderer of her beloved husband, and yet she always treated him with politeness. He liked her, he could not help himself. There was one woman who did what no woman had ever done for him - treating him like anyone else, like any normal, average man. Why her? Why the woman who was still in mourning her late husband's death - his violent death at Erik's merciless hands? Erik shook his head and forced himself to look at her and listen to what she wanted to tell him with great efford.

"My children are at church now, after mass they get soup for the poor. One day less to worry how to feed them," she said and Erik reched into his pocket, got the money he had already counted and slammed it down at the worn table with a rude groan. He hated himself for being rude, but he could not even tell if he was angry with her or with himself. Dede could tell him, Dede could always tell him what he felt before he himself knew. Erik usually needed much time to analyse his own feelings for hours before he knew what he felt. Dede knew just by being close to him.

Madame Buquet took the money without counting it. She knew he never betrayed her, if he said he would give her a certain sum she could be sure he kept his word. She knew he was plagued by guild and would give everything to undo the horrible deed and all the pain he had inflicted on her and her children. But whatever he did, and she knew he really did everything in his power, it was not enough. It would never be enough. Maybe on his or her deathbed, but she would not find any words of forgiveness for him before, she knew she was being cruel in this, really Un-Christian, but she could not forgive him.

"I worry about Joseph," she said, "I know he has the wrong friends. A boy in his age needs an apprenticeship place and hope for the future, but with his bad marks in his school certificate and the sentence for theft in his criminal record it will be difficult to find any job at all. Yet he does not even bother to try. I am so very worried about him."

Erik looked aside, trying not to yell at her. It was painful to hear and a terrible reminder of what he had done. It was more than he could bear and he was powerless to do anything about it.

"Claire and Maurice suffer a terrible cough and I fear they might get lung-infection. It is the terrible mould," she said.

"I can't change that," Erik snapped and shuddered. He had not wanted to snap at her but he could not take any more today.

Madame Buquet sat down and looked up at him. "Joseph worries me most," she said, "Can you imagine what it feels like to watch him becoming a member of a gang of scum? Future robbers, kidnappers and extortionists? Hearing from other women that he grabbed a girl at her hair, dragged her into a backyard and exposed himself before her eyes?"

" **That** is **not** my fault," Erik roared and slammed his fists down at the table, towering over the woman.

She did not flinch. She did not show any fear. "You already did the worst that could happen to me," she informed him calmly, "Nothing can frighten me now. If you kill me, I would regard it as **mercy**."

Erik straigthened his spine and ran a hand through his hair and massaging his neck uneasily. "Gontier gave **me** a chance - I'm sure he'll give Joseph a job if he asks for one. I'll talk to him."

"The main problem will be to convince Joseph to stay away from false friends," Madame Buquet sighed, "When his father was alive, Joseph always wanted to be like him. He so much loved his father - and now he turns to the wrong men for guidance. He... he needs..."

"Shut up, woman!" Erik yelled, then managed to control himself again and added a awkwardly: "I understand. I understand perfectly. You do not need to torture me. I will try to help him, but right now I do not know how..." He sank onto a chair uninvitedly, he just needed to sit down, he felt nauseaous and lightheaded and was not sure he would not have collapsed now. Could someone please stop the room from spinning around him? He felt as if he was on a ship in a terrible storm. "I will try, but I need time. This is too much... far too much for only one man to bear."


	15. Getting Help

**Education of the Heart**

 **Getting Help**

After his talk with Madame Buquet Erik came home to find his three friends waiting for him. They did not go to bed when he was not there, but as he had taught them they had already made dinner - some sort of stew - and undressed so they now sat in their beds. As usual they had saved Erik his share and kept it warm on their small wood-burning stove. They could do much more than everyone else gave them credit for. At least they had their own talents - Dede seemed to be the smartest of them, but Erik had given up trying to figure out who was cleverer then whom - it depended on the task he gave them. Dede could repair a chair or a table, but he would never be able to clean his own clothes or sew a button back on. He could talk better than the others but he could not cook like Rene could. He just didn't understand how to build a fire.

"Eat," Jules said as Erik sat down on his bed.

"Not hungry," Erik groaned and kicked off his boots. He just wanted to be left in peace.

"Eat," Jules insisted and got the pot with the stew and a spoon.

"No!"

"No sleep without food," Rene scolded Erik.

"I am your guardian, not the other way round!" Erik snapped angrily. He really had no time for their stupidity now.

"No sleep without food," Rene insisted.

"Shut up, go to sleep before I get really angry! You know what I can do when someone disobeys me!" Erik threatened, using the same tone he used whenever he wanted to make sure no one dared to disobey.

"Yes, we know," Dede was certainly unimpressed, "You speak of bad things."

"Why not eat? Don't you like us?" Rene asked, "We made it for you."

Erik just turned his back to them. He did not want to eat, even when he knew they had done their best. He was sure they had forgotten at least three ingedients and keeping warm meant half of it was burned. "Leave me alone," he said, not angrily, only sad.

"Eat or we tell girl-singer," Dede said, imitating Erik when he was trying hard to be as scary as possible.

Erik sat up and stared at them. "Are you... trying to threaten **me**?" he asked, too confused to be angry. Then he saw them smile at him as they lost their facade. He could not help laughing too. They knew he had asked Gontier if he could earn a little extra helping in the office. They knew he had rearranged their schedule and now they had three days on the garbage cart in the exclusive living areas and three days in the workshop. And every Wednesday they passed the house were the singer lived ans saw her leave for rehearsal. Erik always ducked down behind the horse, trying to see her but no being seen. Erik had never thought they might notice his 'I'm just tending to the horse' as hiding himself - and of course he would never have guessed they understood the concept of being in love. But then - they were much better in understanding his feelings than he himself.

"If I eat this - do you tell me how you found out about the girl singer?" Erik asked, trying a new strategy. They were like children sometimes, so why not treat them like children? As if he had any experience with children, that is.

"Okay," Dede decided and handed him the lukewarm pot with the half-burned stew.

Erik tried to figure out what it had been made of. Cabbage, carrots, stale bread and cheese. "Cheese? Where have you gotten cheese?" he asked.

"Found it in the garbage," Dede said and the others nodded happily, "You always say it's unbelievable what rich people throw away." The three of them grinned proudly and Erik did not know if he should be proud, lauging or throwing up.

"And you... ate that?" he asked, "When?"

The three men looked at each other. They knew the question "when" referred to a time but neither could read a clock and they had none. "Three fires ago," Rene answered. He could remember that they had to build a new fire three times and now it was just a bit of embers. Erik calculated the time. They always used insufficient wood and waited until the ashes were cold before they build a new fire. Two hours, maybe more? If the food was spoiled they would have been sick by now. It was not the first time in his life he was forced to eat something he had found in the garbage. It did not smell funny and the taste was... stale. Stale like everything they tried to cook. Yes, he had forbidden them to touch the salt or the spices, but... Erik heaved a sigh. It was not easy. They had just tried to help him, but right now he found he could not really appreciate it. He wondered himself how he managed to get a few bites down without being sick.

"Now, you tell me how you found out about **my** singer!" Erik demanded.

Dede grinned. "Your eyes when you see her or think of her," he explained, "You like her."

"I **love** her," Erik corrected. The word "like" was not enough to describe what he felt.

"Marry her?" Rene suggested.

"I wish it was that easy," Erik sighed, "Now go to sleep and don't talk about things you'll never understand."

"I liked a woman but she didn't like me because I'm stupid," Dede answered, "Hurt."

"Then **she** was stupid," Erik tried to comfort his friend, "She was stupid not to see just how clever you are. It is not everything about writing librettos or calculating statics for great buildings. You are intelligent but on another level. If she failed to see that, she was ignorant and does not deserve you." He smiled awkwardly as he realized just how empty his attempt to give a good advise was. As if he had any experience with women other than them screaming and running from him or treating him like they would a filthy rat from the sewers. But Christine... Christine was different. She did not love him as he had hoped she would, that he had accepted by now. But she still loved music and she would not be able to live without music. He just needed a chance to get close to her again, somehow. He needed Dr. Benevole and Clemenceau to declare him "cured" then he could try to get to her again. Maybe if he was able to Show her just how much he had changed, that he had become a good man, maybe then she would give him another chance? Maybe just to sing with her, to help her with her roles, and then - maybe in time she would get used to him. If she got used to him so much she could not imagine to live without him, he would have won. Maybe that had been his mistake from the beginning - he had wanted too much in too short time. Maybe if he gave her much time...

* * *

Erik arrived far too soon for his meeting with Dr. Benevole, when the doctor finally came he noticed that Erik was impatient and nervous.

"What happened?" Dr. Benevole asked worriedly. Erik being that upset was no good sign.

"I have another patient for you," Erik started as they sat down in the doctor's office, "A young man, more a boy than a man, and he is at the beginning of a very destructive way. He needs your help and I am sure you can help him as you help me."

Dr. Benevole was taken aback. He needed a few moments to understand what was going on while Erik got up to prepare tea and got a chocolate box from a drawer as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

"What is 12 divided by 3?" Erik asked and the three Mongoloid men shut their eyes tightly and all of them lifted four fingers. "Right, all of you," Erik behaved like a proud teacher as he allowed each one to take four chocolates. Dr. Benevole noted that Erik was quite generous with the sweets that did not belong to him and took it for granted that the doctor provided tea and sweets for his friends.

"I never agreed to provide medical treatment for your friends," Dr. Benevole stated diplomatically but firmly.

Erik was surprised, or at least he gave the perfect impression of being surprised. "But he needs you. Now his criminal record is one single theft, but if he continues to spend so much time with that scum he'll end up a burglar like they are - and then he never gets any chance in his life."

The doctor decided to answer rather evasively: "Are you sure he is criminal insane? If he is sane and just made the wrong choice in his life he does not need a doctor, he needs the correction of a punishment."

"He refuses to work and prefers to become a burglar, he's 14 and drinks and smokes and..." Erik turned bright red, obviously he could not even bring himself to talk about what he knew, "...the way he treats women is... **not right**."

"Sexual harassement?" Dr. Benevole asked and Erik turned away as if he could not stand to hear the word.

"He said the s-word!" Rene exclaimed laughing, "Bad doctor! Bad, bad, bad doctor!"

"Why would I treat this friend of yours?" the doctor asked, ignoring the Mongoloid men.

Erik shifted in his seat and turned to face the doctor: "Because he needs your help. Hippocratic oath, or have you forgotten? Help those who need your help."

"And... are you going to pay for his treatment?" Dr. Benevole asked, knowing fully well that Erik would not be able to pay for one hour a month.

"No. Take him in your experiment and let the University pay your fee," Erik answered. He obviously had thought about it and had a complete plan how to proceed.

"But he is not criminally insane. He's just a criminal," the doctor objected, "And for criminals are prisons and not hospitals."

"Ah, and I am not a criminal?" Erik asked sarcastically.

"You confessed to being mentally ill and your bioraphy confirmed that. But in his case I do not think he's mentally ill, so there is nothing I can do for him."

"I understand. In this **glorious republic** you have to be a murderer who kills people in a very **spectacular** and very **interesting** way. As long as you are just a mere thief you do not deserve any therapy and go directly to prison where you meet men who teach you to commit worse crimes. If you need help you better be a most dangerous killer for if you are not dangerous enough no one will **care** if you need help or not!" Erik exclaimed furiously, "Here you have the chance to prevent a boy to grow up to be a dangerous criminal and what do you do? **Nothing**! Nothing at all!"

Dr. Benevole hated to have to disagree with Erik for he secretly shared his sentiments. "Who is that boy?" he asked.

"Joseph Buquet," Erik answered and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. That name was nothing he liked to speak aloud.

"No. I can't help that boy. Erik, he is the son of the man you killed - and you are my patient. I can't accept him as my patient as well, do you understand?" the doctor insisted.

Erik shrugged: "And there is no other doctor in France?"

Dr. Benevole sighed. "Erik, please try to understand that there is a difference between those who are mentally ill and those who are mentally healthy and just chose to be criminals, because they are workshy or whatever. Not every criminal is mentally ill."

"The **victims** might not be able to see the difference," Erik argued dryly, "So he's just not interesting to you. And what am I to do now - sit back and watch until he's crazy enough to be worthy of your precious attention?"

While the doctor was happy that Erik thought about crime victims in general, he was not sure what to make of this. Erik behaved as if he was the one running the experiment. In retrospect the doctor asked himself if this was to be expected. This man was used to boss anyone around and it seemed to be only natural that he tried the same with him. He did not like to have hierarchic encounters with patients and usually patients accepted the doctor as the one who knew better and therefore to be the one in charge - but not this Erik Morriere! He would have to assert his Position and get this Erik back in line or he would never be able to help him.

"This is not for you to decide," Dr. Benevole stated firmly, "I am in charge of this experiment and I decide who would be a fitting example and who not."

"So I am just a guinea pig? **Thank you** for telling me. Shall I return to my **cage** now or do you want me to run another round in the hamster wheel?"

"You know what I was telling you, don't twist my every word," Dr. Benevole replied calmly, "This boy is not mentally ill. He does not need a doctor. He needs..." He stopped himself before he could say the words "a father" or "fatherly friend".

Erik seemed to shrink in his chair as he leaned forward, his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. "And I made sure he does no longer have a father, is that what you wanted to say? What am I to do now? Sit back and watch him waste his life?"

"You can't help him if he does not accept help," the doctor answered calmly, "A doctor can't help a patient who refuses to accept help."

Erik jumped to his feet, about to yell at the doctor, but he suddenly seemed to forget what he had ben about to say and sat down again. "On the contrary. I **never** accepted defeat and I will not do it now. I cannot give him his father back, but I will not allow him to make his life worse than it is."

Dr. Benevole grabbed Erik's arm and forced him to look him in the eyes. **"What are you going to do?"** he asked, deeply worried what his patient had come up with. It could be everything, but right now he suspected it to be nothing good.

Erik shrugged indifferently as he answered: " **The less you know the better**!" and smiled in a way that it made Dr. Benevole shudder. He glanced to the three Mongoloid men who were sitting there, listening as if they too were doctors and understood what was going on. They did not seem disturbed, not in the slightest. On the contrary, they seemed to know everything would be allright now that Erik had had an idea.

"I better inform Clemenceau," Dr. Benevole decided, "Just in case."

" **Of course**!" Erik exclaimed as if he had just been reminded of something he had already forgotten, "Yes, I guess he will be eager to help me. If he cooperates with me he gets to arrest a gang of burglars." The doctor noticed the wording Erik used with great discomfort. The magistrate was to cooperate with him - this was exactly the haughty attitude that would get Erik in trouble soon enough if someone did not accept being ordered around by him. "If Joseph's friends are arrested he might wake up from his illusions that it was easy to be a thief. Yes, really great idea - thank you very much, doctor! Come on, guys, we have to see the magistrate!" Dr. Benevole did not commend this. He was sure the magistrate Clemenceau would not be very happy to see his prisoner number one on a Sunday evening demanding that the police should carry out his plan.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik has not changed much, has he? But now he tries to use his talents for something good - at least he has the best intentions._


	16. Sheeps and Wolves

**Education of the Heart**

 **Sheeps and Wolves**

Fourteen boys who considered themselves young men sat together in the last dry room in a partly collapsed house. The rest of the walls could collapse soon when the heavy snow would fall in winter, therefor the room was not occupied despite the housing shortage among the poor. They sat together, sharing the stolen wine and cigarettes, laughing and mocking everyone who worked each day.

"Better a short and happy life than a long one without any purpose."

"What is the reward for good work? More work!"

They laughed.

"Joseph - do you think you are ready to be more than just an errand boy? Do real men's work?"

 **"He's not!"** a dark voice that seemed to come directly from hell boomed. There was no one to be seen, but the voice came directly from the small fire they had build in the middle of the room.

"Who is there?" the oldest boy, he was about 20 but he did not know his exact birthday, answered, trying not to sound scared. He reached for his knife.

"No one," the dark voice answered, "Joseph, leave the room. **Now**!"

Joseph shuddered involuntarily, but he tried not to let anyone see his fear so he said with much more bravery than he actually felt: "Don't worry, I know that voice. It's the garbage freak."

Erik, who was hiding behind the wall, winced. So that was his new nickname. Garbage Freak. Great. Just great. Even that scum looked down on him. But this was not about him, he knew it, and he reminded himself that the boy had every right to hate him. He stepped out of the shadows and walked into the room, looking at the fourteen boys. All of them carried knives but not one looked like he was really a hardened criminal. Of course they could scare old ladies, but he was sure they were no threat to him.

"Maybe this 'garbage freak' has to tell you something, young sir," Erik mocked, looking down at the boy, "And you too, Messieurs. Now, Monsieur Buquet, you come with me."

"Why would I?" the boy asked and build himself up to his full height - he didn't reach Erik's shoulder.

"Because, my good sir, you leave Paris tomorrow. I guess you want to say goodby to your family?"

" **You** can't tell me what to do!"

"He's right," another of the boys came to Joseph's help now that they saw Erik standing there, calmly, dressed in his worn and dirty cloak and the cap. He surely did not look as intimidating as he had done in black suit and cape. "You have nothing to say. Go back to the dumping ground where you belong, **freak**!"

Erik sighed and shook his head sadly. "I wish we could do this in another way. You, boys, stay away from him in the future. If you want to ruin your live, by all means, do so. But you won't ruin him."

" **Boys**?" one of the older boys spat an drew his knife, but kept his distance. He was far away from Erik, way out of attack distance.

"That's rich, you, the **freak** who lives in the **dumping ground** , trying to tell us what to do in our lives!" another one mocked.

"There are sheep and there are wolves. Sheep are to be exploited and fed on by wolves," yet another boy lectured, he obviously considered himself smart.

"Do you **know** what happens to wolves?" Erik's voice was silky, threatening like the purr of a panther, " **They get shot by the huntsmen**."

"Ha! And who are you to talk to Joseph like this? Are you his father?" a short fat boy challenged.

"No. I am the man who **murdered** his father," Erik answered dryly. He kept a straight face despite the terrible pain in his gut, he wanted to cry or yell at them or even better just beat the crap out of them.

"You're kidding!" the oldest boy exclaimed.

Joseph answered this: "He's not."

"Okay, Joseph, your choice: Come with me now and leave Paris tomorrow for a better future. Your mother signed the contract for your job."

"She has **no right**!" Joseph retorted.

"She has **every** right!" Erik roared, "She's your mother!" He controlled himself, reminding himself silently just how ridiculous it was to talk like that. He was truly the last person who had any right to tell another one how to respect and obey his parents.

"No. I decide myself. You leave - or we show you what we do to the scum of the earth!" Joseph threatened. It would have sounded better if his voice had not broken. So Erik was not sure if this was for real or if the boy was making a joke.

The masked man looked around. Fourteen boys, armed with various knives. He did not want a fight, not now, and not against a bunch of street boys who would run as soon as the first of them fell under his lasso. But he would not. He would not kill a child. "Joseph, why do you make it so difficult for yourself? You can either obey me now or suffer the consequences," he sighed.

Joseph shrugged: "Empty threats. Your time is **over** , old man, go bury yourself in garbage."

Erik turned round and left, shaking his head sadly. He had hoped the boy would see reason without being forced to.

* * *

Only a few days later eight of the boys, including Joseph, sat in their room and laughed about the old lady they had robbed. They had stolen a few bottles of wine from a store, that's all, but they felt like the kings of robbers.

Suddenly a voice from the door called: "Hands up! No move! Police!"

The boys were too shocked to react. They were eight boys and suddenly twenty policemen were there, shackling their hands behind their backs.

"What? Why?" one of the boys asked panicked.

"Which one is Joseph Buquet?" a policeman asked and Joseph nodded, his face white in his panic. The policeman opened his shackles and jovially clapped his shoulder. "Well done, lad. Thanks for the hint."

"What?" Joseph had surely never given the police any hint. He did not understand what was going on, but he knew that the others would kill him because they surely believed he had betrayed them.

The policemen searched the room and the boys and found a golden watch in the pocket of one of the boys. "That's it. The final prove. You are arrested for burglary!"

"Burglary?" one boy asked.

"In all of my career I never saw such audacity. Burglary in the house of the presiding judge," an elderly policeman shook his head.

"We never..." one of the boys started.

"I don't know how the watch got into my pocket!"

"It's a trap! Someone set us up!"

"Tell that to the judge," a policeman replied, "But I doubt he'll believe that."

When they were gone, Joseph was left alone and terribly confused. What had just happened?

* * *

The boy sat down on the floor and stared at the dying flames of the fire he had build for himself and his friends just moments ago - and now they were gone, arrested, and thought he had betrayed them to the police. It was the second time in his life Joseph had lost everything and he felt numb and confused, his life was a nightmare and he could not believe that this was really happening to him.

A movement in the darkness brought him to his feet. If this was a nightmare, here was the monster now.

"Your mother is waiting for you," the monster's angelic voice informed him softly.

" **You** did this, didn't you? **You** stole the watch and placed it on him. **You** called the police and made it look like I did," Joseph whispered, realizing that this had all been staged to punish him for disobeying the monster's orders. "You killed my father. Are you going to kill me now?" he asked, feeling strangely calm.

Erik sat down on a pile of rubble and watched the boy, who was pacing the room, his steps getting faster as he helplessly gestured with his hands, trying to find words for what he was going through but there were none. Finally Joseph stopped and looked down on the sitting man who had taken off his cap so his nearly bald head with the grey hair was exposed, half of his face covered by a mask. The monster of his nightmares suddenly looked not so dangerous as he sat there in his wet and dirty clothing, the smell from the dumping grounds emanated from his clothes but he did not seem to notice. Erik looked up at him, his eyes filled with sadness. He knew what he had done to the boy, even if this time he had done it to help the child.

Joseph drew his knife. It was a rather short knife and not really sharp. The blade was a bit rusty. "You destroyed my life twice. Are you happy?" Joseph screamed at the masked man, his young voice breaking again, as he raised the knife. Erik moved faster than Joseph could see in the dim light of the dying fire. The masked man was on his feet and grabbed the boy's wrists so hard, he had to drop the knife. The boy fought to free himself but he was no match for the much stronger man. Finally they both sat on the filthy floor, Erik still holding the boy's arms until the child gave up and started crying.

"Joseph, you loved your father," Erik stated softly, sadly, "He was a good man. A gentle, good-natured man who worked hard to provide for his family."

" **Murderer**!" Joseph spat, trying to free himself again, " **Filthy beast**!"

Erik looked at the desperate boy and answered gently: "Yes. You are right. Hate me all you like, hate me and despise me. Hate everything that made me what I am today. Hate me as much as you loved your father, so you will grow up to become like him and not me." He was not sure the boy had heard him or understood what he was saying, but he simply needed to say that. He needed to create the illusion that all of this would lead to something good, something that would give all this suffering some sense.

It was late when he managed to drag Joseph to the little shop and turn him over to his mother. Madame Buquet embraced her son, crying and clinging to him as if she would never let go of him.

Erik had to force himself to go away and not say anything. He desperately wanted someone to pity him, to comfort him, to hold him. He decided not to give the boy the speech he had thought about for hours. It would not help the child to hear just how bitter Erik's life had become. It would not help anyone to wallow in self-pity. The child would not understand now just how painful it was to face the consequences of a crime. He would like to tell the boy how much he regretted what he had done and how hard it was for him to try to make up for his crime - but that would not be of any interest for the child and finally Erik convinced himself that he would not degrade himself, it was humiliating enough as it was, he would not beg for their pity. He was ashamed of himself that he had actually considered this.

Erik checked his pocket watch. It was a special watch he had created for himself, one that was absolutely silent and its ticking would not be heard if he needed to hide somewhere. He hoped to get little sleep before he had to start working. Briefly he considered running away and going back to the opera. Not to commit any crimes, no, just to hide away and return to darkness and solitude, to the endless silent night until he filled it with music - but he knew he could not. He would not be able to take Dede, Rene and Jules with him and they needed him, he would no longer be able to help the widow Buquet and he knew his job was not done. He had to care for her until her children were old enough to live on their own, which would be at least eight years considering the age of the youngest girl. If he did not find some way to get out of this sooner, but right now he was too tired to think.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik has come up with a solution. A rather swift and nor really legal solution that is, but then, he's Erik and the current legal system does not really matter to him. Let's hope he does not make things worse with his rush and ruthless act._

 _I hope you still like my fanfic? Every review is highly appreciated!_


	17. Therapy Session

**Education of the Heart**

 **Therapy Session**

Dr. Benevole was surprised to find Erik in exceptional good mood the following Sunday. Erik told him of his success in teaching Dede, Rene and Jules and they eagerly started to read. Well, reading was not the right word, they could identify the letters, which is far from reading. But it was far from actually reading. On the other hand - mongoloid men were generally considered idiots, too stupid to do any reading at all. Dede was the best one, Jules had the most difficulties and Rene had only problems with letters that looked quite similar like d and b, g and p.

But Erik did not say one word about the Buquet boy.

Dr. Benevole could not accept the distraction tactic Erik was using on him, especially not when it involved his three friends. "Tell me, Erik, don't you think it is far beneath you to use your friends in that way?"

" **What**?" Erik seemed really surprised, "I have no idea what you are talking about?"

"You are a good teacher, you taught them skills no one would ever have guessed they could learn. But you do not tell me anything about yourself. This is **your** therapy, in case you have forgotten. **You** are the patient. I need to hear about **you,** " the doctor asked.

Erik grinned: "I'm starting to climb up the greasy pole. I drive the garbage cart on Monday and Wednesday through the elegant quarters where we find most of the usable objects in the trash. And I am driving only after 6 a.m. which is really a great relief. The rest of the time I am... foreman in the workshop where unskilled employees clean and repair things like clothes, shoes, dishes and even furniture to be sold in the little second hand shop."

"So you are a foreman now?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"Yes, Gontier is happy with my ideas and just allows me to do whatever I want to. I get some extras... and I am working on another idea. The repair work with the watches gave me that idea. My watches and clocks are much more than just watches because I can combine them with music boxes or even with light bulbs. It is fun to build something like that from garbage. If Gontier is willing to invest enough money, we could open a store in a better area in Paris, selling music boxes and special clocks and watches."

"That is a very good idea," Dr. Benevole answered happily, "But right now you need the permission from Clemenceau to do so. What gave you this idea?"

"Some rich young men who love to show off bought some of the watches I made. Selling things made of trash to poor people in the slums is good - but I think we would make much more of it if we sell these things mostly made of trash to rich people. Rich people can afford to pay more and if you call it 'avant-garde' a special clientele is willing to pay much for a unique item." Erik smiled. He liked his idea and he knew Gontier liked it too but wanted him to make enough items in advance so the shop would be full of goods when they would open it. "Since the money and the material comes from Gontier and I bring in my creativity and knowledge and skills we would share the profit. I could work and live in the workshop in the cellar, the shop would be ground-floor and behind the shop is a room for the shopkeeper."

"You thought this through, didn't you?" Dr. Benevole asked, "Am I correct that you plan to have Madame Buquet as shopkeeper?"

"Of course! She has a crippled hand but is a good shopkeeper. I think it is very important to her that she does not live on alms given by me but earns her own income," Erik stated and nodded to Dede who had found one of the doctors writing pads and started writing his own name. The doctor rolled his eyes. Why did Erik consider everything that was lying around in the office as for free? The doctor was surprised to find out how considerate Erik was of the widow Buquet. It would be hard for them both to work together but obviously Erik considered this as the lesser of two evils.

"And her son?" Dr. Benevole asked, curious if Erik had come up with a solution.

"Maurice? A clever boy and he's skilled with his hands, but he is not strong, even his younger sister is stronger than he is. He's clever, skilled and is fascinated with my little toys. I think I can take him as apprentice if he wants to. If not, he'll be a good toy maker or watch maker one day, maybe even a jeweler. He loves to play with tiny things, the smaller, the better." Erik's answer was not a lie and it certainly was a good answer - but not the one the doctor had hoped for. Now the doctor was absolutely convinced that Erik was avoiding the topic for some reason.

"That's good to hear - and Joseph?" Dr. Benevole asked directly.

Erik got up from his seat and went to the window to look out to the streets that were almost empty that cold Sunday afternoon. "He left Paris and moved to his mother's cousin who is foreman in a sawmill. Joseph accepted a job there and I think he will be quite happy."

"How did you convince him?" Dr. Benevole asked.

Erik shrugged. "He had no choice when his accomplices were arrested and thought he had betrayed them to the police. All his ties to them are cut off swiftly, painfully and permanent. He has no chance but to become a good worker now."

Dr. Benevole was speechless. This was unexpected and certainly not what he had hoped for. He looked at the three mongoloid men who suddenly seemed to be uncomfortable and were moving away from Erik. Not a good sign. If they really could read his emotions as well as he claimed they could - if they avoided him, it was surely no good sign.

"I can't tell you," Erik answered, "Right to remain silent. Presumption of innocence. Benefit of doubt."

Dr. Benevole got up from his seat and went to Erik who was still staring down at the streets, his back to the other men. " **What have you done?** " the doctor asked.

Erik shook his head. "I can't tell unless you consider this under confidentiality and it will not show in any file."

Dr. Benevole considered this. It was not easy. He needed to know, otherwise he would not be able to tell if his patient had suffered a severe relapse but he knew his patient would not say one word unless he promised to keep the secret - and if he would break his promise he would lose his licence as a doctor, he could even lose his academic title. What was the lesser of these two evils? He decided he would promise confidentiality and if necessary rather risk his career than have a dangerous madman going free.

Erik told his three friends to wait for him outside. They obeyed without any questions. When they were alone, Erik told the doctor what he had done in a low voice. It was obvious that he himself was uncomfortable with this. He concluded with the words: "You do not have to tell me that it was illegal what I have done, but it is in everyone's best interest."

"I guess the boys who are in prison now would disagree to that," Dr. Benevole stated.

Erik turned to face him, leaning against the windowsill, he gave the doctor a long glance, as if he was waiting for something. The doctor shifted uncomfortably under the stare of these piercing eyes. Now he understood why some witnesses had described his eyes as "burning". If the masked man stared at someone unblinking, it seemed he could see something in the other man's soul. Finally Erik broke the eye contact and sat down again, pouring himself a cup of tea which was by now cold. He did not seem to notice as he drank.

"It was **you** who told me that they are criminals and need correction through a trial and punishment," Erik said, not lowering his cup. It looked like he was hiding his mouth with the cup as he looked up at the doctor. "They may go to prison for a theft they did not commit, but they surely got away with enough crimes to rightfully deserve punishment."

Dr. Benevole opened his mouth to reply something, but he forgot what that might have been before the first word could leave his lips. Erik's reasoning was logical, but it felt unjust and wrong nevertheless.

"They are scum, stealing from old ladies and threatening them so much they don't dare call the police," Erik answered, "Younger children had to pay them weekly for not beating them up. They preyed upon the most helpless people in the slums - old women and small children. I think they deserve a punishment," Erik went on.

Dr. Benevole took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. This was not easy, the man surely had a point. At least some of his moral values were perfectly normal and maybe this was his chance to confront the masked man with another one of his crimes.

"Weren't you doing exactly the same?" he asked.

Erik put down the cup and stared at the doctor as if he had just told him to fly to the moon. "Are you suggesting, I would ever commit such a despicable, cowardly crime?" Erik snapped, deeply offended by the suggestion.

Dr. Benevole sighed. Erik still blocked out the fact that he was an extortionist. The doctor took his seat in a chair close to Erik and did not miss that Erik immediately changed his position to get farther away from him. "20.000 Francs a month or ' **a disaster beyond your imagination will occur** '. Rings a bell?" Dr. Benevole snapped and scolded himself silently for losing his temper with his patient.

Erik waved a hand as if he was shooing away a pesky fly. "That's something else entirely!" he replied annoyed, "I would never ever harm small children or helpless old ladies."

"So you think blackmail is not bad when the victim is a grown up man?"

Erik shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It was not like that!" he retorted stubbornly, "You don't understand anything, do you? The opera... they... they owed it to me. I had done so much, I had given more than ten years of my life to build that house. And I got almost nothing in return, just the meager salary of a technical drawer. I never asked for anything I did not rightfully deserve."

"So you do not consider it extortion to demand 20.000 Franc a month and blackmail them into obeying your every whim?"

" **Whim**?" Erik yelled and almost lunged himself on the doctor, but he did only grab his shirt not his throat, "Whim? You call my work a whim? I **made** that opera what it is, not only did I erect the building, it was **my** genius that ensured a certain quality in the productions and earned the reputation the opera now has. And I did a very good work in that." Erik calmed down and released the doctors shirt, turning away in embarrassment. He started pacing the room as he debated with himself if he owed the doctor an apology now or not. Finally he stopped and mumbled a bit out of breath: "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude." It was the best he could come up with now without losing his face.

The doctor finally understood. "So you considered yourself a consultant who gets a monthly fee of 20.000 Franc?" Erik nodded but did not answer verbally. "But you know that the managers did not want your advise? And they surely would never be willing to pay that much to a consultant they did not even want?" the doctor went on.

"But Lefevre needed me. I saw what he was doing - he was a businessman without any talent for music. He would have ruined the reputation of my opera. Luckily he listened to me and so I managed to turn the tide," Erik answered, "The critiques and the ticket sells speak their own language. Just look it up - go to the opera and look it up. It took one year after my first interference, but you can easily see it in the figures and the newspaper archive. And he never called the police or tried to get rid of me."

"And the new managers?" Dr. Benevole asked, not willing to pass any comment at that.

Erik shrugged. "Could be worse. Andre has some sense of diplomacy and crawling. Firmin knows much about publicity. Sadly both have no idea how a theatre is to be run. Since I have been away - did you read the critiques in the newspapers? The opera has not one new production. Christine gets minor roles, Carlotta is too old, she is no longer up to leading roles. The ballet is a mess since Giry does not dare to refuse the managers, the chorus has too many members who are good in the beds of wealthy patrons but cannot sing, the orchestra - forget the orchestra! Too many old men with arthritis and some of them are positively deaf! Reyer is a good conductor but he has no guts - he never dares to say the truth. Piangi is so fat, it affects his breathing. I don't even dare to think of the absolutely distasteful ideas of the main director..." Erik was talking himself into a rage and it was going completely in the wrong way.

Dr. Benevole knew he had to stop this or the situation might escalate. "Erik, please sit down!" he said friendly but firmly. Erik stopped pacing and looked at the doctor, curious what he had to tell him. "Sit down, please." Erik sat down, but he chose a chair in the darkest corner of the room. "I know that it is hard for you not to be allowed to go to the opera. I understand that you love music, but you have to understand..."

"I **have to** understand? I cooperate in this damned farce of a therapy perfectly, I have never been at the opera! Ask Dede, Rene and Jules. Ask Gontier. But I still read newspapers - they are ruining the opera! It is so very **painful** to see what they are doing to my poor opera house - what they do to me! It is physically painful! And yet I endure it, because your so called justice forbids me to defend myself."

"You strongly identify with the opera, don't you?" Dr. Benevole asked and raised an eyebrow.

Erik shrugged annoyed and turned to face the wall, touching the painting with his index finger. He looked like a sulking schoolboy now.

"So you really think you had the right to commit assault, extortion and murder?" Dr. Benevole asked much louder and sharper than he had intended to.

Erik winced. "In a **just world** this would not be **necessary**. In a **just world** I would be given the job I can do best - manage the opera house! In a just world I would not be shunned because I have to wear a mask to conceal my deformity. In a just world someone would see my value and give me the job and status I deserve, I would be treated like anybody else." There it was again, his self-pity and stubborn refusal to see that his face was not the greatest obstacle in his life.

"This world is not just, I agree. But this gives **no one** , and this includes you, **Monsieur Erik Morriere** , the right to commit any crimes!"

"You talk like a priest."

"And you like an incorrigible scoundrel. Shall I inform Clemenceau that you refuse to participate in this experiment?"

They sat in utter silence for a while, then Dr. Benevole stated: "We need to do the next step in your therapy, I think. It worked really extraordinary well with Madame Buquet, I think you should have a talk with the managers."

Erik groaned. "Is this really necessary? I hate them, they hate me and Lefevre left France - do I really have to...?"

" **You** want to get my statement that you are cured. But you can always go to prison, if you prefer that?"

"Very well. But **you** arrange that meeting with Gontier. I have work to do, especially now that I learned I need Clemenceau's permission for the next step I have to do to get out of the gutter again. Am I allowed to leave now or do you plan to give me a good telling-off?"

"Just one question: How do you know what these boys did? Are you a witness or have you asked witnesses?" the doctor asked.

"All I needed was listening to them boasting with their **heroic deeds** ," Erik answered, "They are scum, I know that, I was like them once. So please do not try to convince me that I did wrong in that. After all, they will confess the burglary against the presidential judge because they hope for only three months in prison - if they do not confess it's six month to a year. And no, I will **not** have a guilty conscience about that."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Sometimes Erik can be like a sulking schoolboy._


	18. Fairness

**Education of the Heart**

 **Fairness**

The magistrate Clemenceau was sitting behind his desk as a knock on the door interrupted his breakfast. Who would dare to disturb him that early?

"I'm not in my office!" he called out to his secretary, the man would send any callers away now. But instead of hearing someone walk away the door was pushed open and a man stood there, half of his face concealed behind a mask.

Clemenceau gagged on his bread.

"Good morning, Monsieur Clemenceau," Erik greeted with an elegant deep bow, "I am truly sorry for interrupting your... ahem... most important work on really difficult cases." Clemenceau asked himself if he should call for help and have this man arrested at once. But the masked man had done nothing that was really a crime. So he gestured for him to come in and close the door.

Erik closed the door and took a step towards Clemenceau. The magistrate noticed that Erik did not wear the usual workman's clothes. He wore a chocolate brown hat, a brown coat and a brown suit. Cloak and suit looked rather worn and were clearly not made for Erik but for a heavier man. The hat on the other hand was new as was the mask, which was not white but beige-colored. It took away his intimidating air and made him look rather frail and in an odd way shy.

"New clothing?" he asked.

Erik was surprised but he answered lightly: "You would be surprised what rich people throw away. A little cleaning here and a stitch there..." He shrugged and spread his arms, then he took off his hat. "I am deeply sorry to waste your time, but I was told I need your permission for this."

"Permission for what?" the magistrate asked in surprise.

"Technically I am your prisoner. So I was told I need your permission if I want to have another job," Erik stated and stared at the chair, clearly waiting to be allowed to have a seat.

Clemenceau did not allow him to take a seat. "You have my permission to work as garbage cart driver. I am already bending the rules for I know you are working only a few hours a week as driver and in reality are the foreman in a new enterprise of Gontier's. It was your idea, wasn't it, to take things from the garbage, repair them and sell them?" Erik nodded and twisted his hat in his hands nervously. He nodded, suddenly experiencing the nasty feeling that this would not be a such an easy thing to accomplish as he had hoped for.

"It was my idea," he said, "And I do not think it is illegal."

"No it is not. But you realize that your permission is only for driving a garbage cart and not being foremen in a new factory?"

"Technically I am just... sorting out garbage," Erik replied, trying to look as humble as he could.

Clemencau laughed. "You talk like a lawyer!" he replied with an amused grin.

"I do not ask on my own behalf," Erik answered, again trying to look like a humble pleader, he even adjusted his voice to sound at least half an octave higher and rather thin, "I'm sure Gontier told you that I am trying to support the widow Buquet. I know fully well that I am responsible for her rather difficult situation and I try all I can to help her. But right now all I can give her is that small room in the slums - and two of her children are ill, they need a room without moisture in the bricks, without mould. If you allow me to open a shop for watches, clocks and music boxes I could provide such a room for her and her children could go to a better school. I'd only take what is absolutely necessary for my survival and give her everything I could."

"You speak with a smooth tongue," the magistrate retorted sharply, "But I do not believe you. Dr. Benevole is a good doctor but he can't work miracles and I don't buy that selflessness. Of course I take it into consideration, but I am no psychiatrist, I am a magistrate."

"That much I knew," Erik answered, not letting on how disappointed he was, "But my request still stands."

" **No** ," Clemenceau said sharply.

" **That is not fair**!" Erik roared and hit the desk with both fists, "I just want to atone for what I did - and you **forbid** **that**? Is that **fair** , is that **just**?"

Clemenceau took a deep breath and leaned back in his large chair. " **No**. It is **not fair**. Do you want me to show you why I consider it **highly unfair** how you are treated?"

Erik nodded, utterly confused. That was something he had not expected. The magistrate got up and gestured for him to follow. They walked upstairs and around a few corners, Erik regretted that he had no time to admire the architecture of the court-building. Finally they stood at a passageway looking through a window down to a small courtyard where a few prisoners in chains were prepared to depart. Policemen on horses watched them closely. The prisoners were shackled to a long chain that was held by one policeman at the front of the row and one behind them. Erik glanced at the magistrate in confusion.

"These are the prisoners sentenced to decades in prison, some life-term. They leave Paris today to go to the prison where they are to serve their sentence. There they will work themselves into the ground," Clemenceau explained, "And if one of them survives to see the day he's released, he'll end up a beggar in the gutter. Some of them face increase in penalty - solitary confinement, confinement in darkened cell, fasting every anniversary of their crime. And do you know what their crimes are?"

Erik shook his head and shifted uncomfortably. This was certainly not going the way he had intended it go go.

"Robbery, extortion, rape and murder," Clemenceau informed him, watching Erik closely. The magistrate was glad to stand on Erik's left side so he could see the uncovered part of Erik's face contort as if he was in pain.

"I could be one of them, is that what you wanted to tell me?" Erik asked.

"No. You would never be one of them. They are - compared to you - just naughty boys," Clemenceau retorted seriously, "Do you think they would prefer to work as garbage collector? I dare say. Do you think they would love to make any amends for their crime? Sure. But **they will never get that chance**."

Erik shuddered. This was backfiring worse than he had expected. The magistrate was not as easily convinced as the doctor.

"You want to know where you would end up?" Clemenceau asked and grabbed Erik's arm to drag him along despite the whispered "no" from the masked man. The magistrate lead Erik into the cellar where the holding cells were. They had to pass many locked doors that were heavily guarded and Erik felt panic rise in his chest.

"Please..." he freed himself from the magistrate's grasp, "I can't breathe."

"Really? I thought you'd rather feel at home here," Clemenceau commended dryly.

"No... please... let me go. I do anything you ask, but don't make me do this," Erik pleaded, "Don't make me go there." The bars, the heavy doors, the many corridors they had to pass - he was hyperventilating and felt lightheaded, he had to fight the urge to run for running would only make things worse now. He was suffocating in that dark corridor.

Clemenceau noticed that the masked man was trembling and sweating, gasping for air as he desperately fought to control his panic. He had not suspected that man would suffer claustrophobia. After all, the masked man had chosen to live in the fifth cellar beneath the opera house - and now he had a panic attack when going to a cellar? "Makes a difference if you are the jailer or the prisoner, doesn't it?" the magistrate mocked, "What do you think that poor girl felt when you kidnapped her?"

"I would never harm her," Erik protested, opening his collar to ease his breathing.

"As I would never harm you," Clemenceau assured him, "I just want to show you something and then we go back to my office and you can write down as many requests as you like."

Erik shuddered. "I... I need to... to use the restroom," he stammered.

"Can't that wait a few minutes?" the magistrate rolled his eyes annoyed. Erik blushed and stared at the floor, but he did not dare answer.

They had to pass several other double door systems before they entered a room where a few guards were playing cards. When they recognized Clemenceau they jumped to their feet. Clemenceau asked them to open the door to the cell block and they did.

"They are a bit rebellious today," one of the guards informed them, "They are throwing their excrements again. So don't go too close."

"Just a look," Clemenceau said, grabbing Erik's arm again, dragging him to the door. Erik stiffened and grabbed the doorframe. He would not go one more inch, never. He couldn't. "Here we have criminally insane men of the most dangerous nature, they are to go to an asylum. And murderers awaiting execution. Take a good look because you belong **right here!** "

" **No**!" Erik screamed and pushed Clemenceau aside, fleeing to the next room where he slammed into the closed door as if he was blind. The impact made him stumble backwards and he shook his head, trying to get his bearings, trying to contain his panic.

"You did not look," Clemenceau told him and crossed his arms, "You will not leave until I introduced you to them."

"Please... let me go..." It was just a disgustingly weak whimper but he could not contain his terror any longer. He was locked in behind many heavily guarded double door systems, there was no way out and he felt as if the walls were closing in around him, as if the lasso was around his neck, strangling him. He knew this was not real, he knew it was his panic, but that did not make it easier.

"Okay. Then without looking at them. The first one is a criminal insane man who killed five women stating they were witches who made him lose his virility. The second one is not criminally insane. Bankrobbery and murder. He killed three men. By the way, how many did you murder?"

"God... please..." Erik clasped his hands over his ears as he sank to the floor, his back against the closed and barred door, "Please... I can't take any more."

"Seven in the chandelier crash and the stagehand, that's eight," Clemenceau informed him calmly, "The young man is guilty of kidnapping and murder. He fell in love with the wife of another man, killed the husband and kidnapped the woman. When the woman refused him, he tried to beat her into submission and killed her too. In his attempt to escape arrest two more men were killed. He's **not** criminally insane and is going to die in two weeks time."

Erik curled himself into a small ball, huddling in a corner. He tried to beg for being allowed to leave but it came out as unintelligible sob.

"You are a **far worse** criminal than they are, do you realize that?" Clemenceau asked.

"Let me go, please, I do everything you ask... just let me go..."

"Are you sure we shouldn't keep him here?" one of the guards asked and Erik looked up in utter panic. He had lost his mask and didn't even notice that his face was bared, a bruise forming on his forehead.

"Yes. He's **the experiment**. Now come, Monsieur Morriere, we go back," Clemenceau stated much more friendly.

"I'm suffocating," Erik gasped as he pushed himself up, "I need air, please..."

Clemenceau was no doctor but he noticed that right now the deformed man was not able to listen to him or understand any word he said, he was in an anxiety attack and could barely contain his fear.

The way up was terrible for Erik because they had to wait at every double door system and he just wanted to run, he needed all of his self-control not to lose his mind now. The magistrate was telling him something but he could not understand a word.

When they finally reached the corridor Erik was trembling so hard he could barely stand. "Are you going to be sick?" the magistrate asked as he noticed Erik's face was almost green and sweat was glistening on his nearly bald head. Erik just nodded. He needed to calm down and a restroom was as good as any other to be alone for a few minutes. "Second door to the right," Clemenceau said and Erik sprinted to the restroom, slamming to door shut behind him before he sank to the floor, his face in his hands, weeping.

Erik had no idea how long he had been lying on the floor or if he had passed out or not. All he remembered was crying, trembling and feeling cold. A terrible coldness that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room or his clothing, it was a coldness that seemed to come from his very core. He shuddered as he finally was composed enough to think again and reached for his handkerchief to wipe his nose. As he opened his eyes, the first thing that came into his blurred view were Clemenceau's shining boots. His head jerked up in shock - had he really forgotten to lock the door before he broke down?

"You forgot your mask and hat," Clemenceau said gently and handed him the things he had mentioned. Erik pushed himself up with some difficulty and took his mask with trembling hands. He fumbled to attach the mask, it took several tries until he finally felt the mask slipping securely in place and covering his deformed flesh.

"I'm sorry," Erik said, his voice hoarse and shaking, "I hope you do not think me utterly mad now?"

Clemenceau laughed: "You better do hope I think you mad - for if you weren't, it was the Guillotine for you and not some cozy therapy. They wouldn't handle you with kid gloves."

Erik allowed himself an awkward smile and blushed in shame as he pushed himself to his feet and tried to smooth down his crumpled clothes. "Thank you," he said, as Clemenceau handed him his hat.

"You are not the first one to break down in my office," the magistrate commended dryly, "You look like you could use a glass of water and a seat?"

"Yes, please."

They sat in the magistrate's office. Erik was a bit better, he still felt cold and the cold sweat on his body made it even worse despite the fact that he was sitting at the fireplace and there was a large fire. He shivered with cold despite the warmth and he was still wearing his cloak and had put on his gloves. Clemenceau did not miss this. "Monsieur, do you need a doctor?" he asked, suddenly worried the man might be ill.

Erik shook his head. "I have to go back to work. And I have to cook our dinner, they always do something stupid if I'm not there to stop them. They are like children, lovable but trying." He did not explain who "they" were, Clemenceau had read the reports, he knew Erik was referring to his mongoloid friends. Erik shuddered again and hugged himself, trying to get warm.

"Are you sure you don't want a doctor? You look horrible," Clemenceau exclaimed, then, as he noticed his mistake: "I mean... positively ill. Sorry." He cleared his throat. After seeing the reason for the mask he understood that this man was hyper-sensitive when it came to his looks.

"No. Thank you, but no. It's just nerves..."

"Ah, just nerves. So if I had cut off your hand you would ask for a doctor, but if you are going mad you refuse to see your psychiatrist?" Clemenceau reasoned.

"I'm really a wreck, am I not?" Erik sighed wearily, "Thank you, but no. I have work to do and the sooner I get back to work the better. I already lost too much time."

"Didn't you want to make a request?" the magistrate asked.

Erik turned in his seat to face him. He got up and put the empty glass down on the desk. He made eye-contact with the magistrate, a grim determination showing in his eyes despite the fact that he was still trembling. "No, thank you. The matter has resolved itself."

Clemenceau sat back in his seat and took out a piece of paper from his drawer. He wrote something, added his stamp and signature and handed it to Erik. "I understand that it is part of your therapy that you prepare for a normal life in the future. So if you want to try to pass the exam to become a watchmaker - here is your permission to earn as many qualification certificates as you like."

Erik took the paper with a bow. "Thank you, sir. For everything." He put on his hat and left very quiet.

Clemenceau sighed, took out another paper and started to write a report he would put in the file and have the secretary copy it and send the copy to Dr. Benevole. This was far more interesting than he had ever hoped for.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Being dragged down into a dungeon without any way out completely at the mercy of another man - Erik does not react well to being the one who is at another one's mercy._

 _Maybe he understands now what he did to Christine?_

 _Please review. Most of my stories are inspired by reviews and PM. :-)_


	19. Confrontation: Giry

**Education of the Heart**

 **Confrontation: Giry**

December came with a terrible snowfall. It was one of those days - yesterday a sunny day in autumn and the next day a snowstorm that made it almost impossible to drive a carriage, to ride or even to walk, for beneath the steadily increasing snow was a thin and slippery plate of ice. The streets in the elegant quarters had to be cleaned from the snow, so they hired men as day-workers to clean the streets for the garbage disposal enterprises did not have enough men and carts to get all the snow away. The snow was loaded onto the garbage carts and then dumped into the river Seine. It was hard work for almost everything had to be done in manual labor.

Meg Giry looked out down to the streets. The snow was falling in heavy snowflakes and it was snowing so much that the workers could not keep up with the growing snow cover. She pitied those people who had to go out and work in the midst of a blizzard. Only poor men who badly needed the money would accept such a job. Little did she know that these jobs were highly appreciated for they would get good money and the work was much less disgusting than many other jobs like cleaning the sewers or the latrines in those quarters where there were no sewers and the sewage would be collected in large barrels which had to be emptied every so often. That was a highly unpopular job.

"Meg?" it was her mother. Meg turned and stared at her mother who was dressed in her best cloak.

"Mother? You don't really plan to leave the house today?" Meg asked.

"We have a rehearsal today, in case you have forgotten," Antoinette Giry snapped.

"But this weather will prevent everyone from coming to the opera house," Meg complained, "So why bother?"

Madame Giry was adamant. If no one else would be there then they would have their private little dancing lesson. She was the ballet mistress and would set a good example - and her daughter had to follow, if she liked it or not.

As they came round the corner Meg suddenly stiffened. She was absolutely sure to have heard the voice of the Opera Ghost. "Mama?" she said and held onto her mother's hand as if she was still a little girl.

"What is it, Meg?" her mother asked.

"Could it be - **him**?" Meg whispered.

Madame Giry looked around and saw a man leading the largest horse she had ever seen slowly through the snow. He could not sit on the driver's seat, he had to walk in front to make sure the horse would not slip in the icy ground. The man wore a brown hat, brown cloak and a grey shawl, but under the shawl his face had an unnatural glow and the snow did not melt on his skin - unless this was no skin but a mask. Madame Giry slowly approached the man who had difficulties walking through the snow and leading the horse that tried to resist his pull every so often.

"Erik?" Madame Giry asked softly. Meg stared at her. Her mother had known the Phantom's name?

Erik looked around and saw the woman in black. He stopped, much to the horse's delight and tipped his hat with his hand. "Madame Giry," he greeted like he had always done in the opera house. Then he turned round to the three men who were constantly busy shoveling snow onto the cart: "Lads - this is Madame Giry, the ballet mistress." Three heads turned towards Madame Giry and the three men mimicked Erik's gesture, tipping their caps, as they greeted: "Madame."

"What are you doing here?" Madame Giry asked, she had thought him to be far away from Paris.

"Swiping streets," he answered and struggled to get the horse moving again. The gelding shook his head and pushed his nose against Erik who slipped and landed on hands and knees in the snow. He stood up and grabbed the reins swiftly.

"O my. That... I don't know what to say..." Madame Giry stuttered. It was not easy to see that proud man being brought so low again. She had seen him in rags in a cage as exhibit in a freakshow, she had seen him in his full power as Phantom of the Opera, and now she saw him as street sweeper. But it was better than seeing him in jail or worse...

"Don't tell Christine, please," Erik asked her as the horse finally gave in and took a slow step, "I'd die of shame if she ever found out."

Madame Giry felt the need to comfort him, he looked like a small boy to her now. "There is nothing to be ashamed of," she told him in a motherly tone than made Meg giggle in surprise. Her mother was mothering the dreaded Phantom? But a glare from both Erik and Antoinette stopped Meg immediately.

"You must be freezing," Madame Giry said sympathetically, "May I offer you a cup of tea? Or hot chocolate?"

"Hot chocolate?" the three mongoloid men suddenly seemed eager to accept.

"No, thank you," Erik said.

"No?" Dede protested, "Why no? We like chocolate!"

"It's cold!" Jules added.

"The lady offered!" Rene complained.

Erik gave a heavy sigh. "She's just being polite. And politeness demands that we do not cause her any trouble so we have to decline," he lectured.

"But... hot chocolate?" Dede insisted.

"Please!" Rene and Jules whined.

"Your underlings?" Madame Giry asked astonished. She did not know any mongoloid person but she had heard they were all idiots.

"My **friends** ," Erik corrected. The horse snatched his hat and tried to chew it. Erik grabbed its jaw and forced it to give the hat back.

"Then you are all invited to have a cup of hot chocolate," Madame Giry decided.

Before the three men could cheer Erik stopped them: "Three hours. In three hours our shift ends and then we can accept that invitation, if it still stands then?"

Madame Giry wondered when he had become so considerate. Usually he did not care when he disturbed anyone. Night or day, if the Phantom wanted something she had to obey immediately. And now he was being so very polite and diligent. "Of course. In three hours in my salon. You have the address?"

"I have the addresses of all employees of the Opera Polpulaire," Erik answered, then suddenly clasped his hand over his mouth as if he had said too much, "Ahem, I **had** them. But I guess you did not move?"

* * *

Three hours later Meg and her mother were sitting in their salon, waiting for their guests. "It was absolutely unnecessary to go to the opera," Meg complained, "No one was there. But I slipped twice on the ice and ripped my gloves and my stockings and my dress is dirty."

"Stop whining," her mother scolded her, "Are you a leading dancer or not? You want to step down and go back to the back lines?"

"You sound like **him** ," Meg snapped and ducked down because she expected a slap from her mother.

That moment a knock on the door told them that their guests had arrived. Madame Giry opened the door herself.

Erik was obviously not done lecturing his friends. "We are guests of two gentlewomen. So behave accordingly, or... o... Good evening, Madame." He took off his hat politely and his friends followed him, taking off their caps. Erik bend down to take off his boots and told his friends to get out of their wet and dirty shoes. "We mustn't carry all that dirt into their nice flat," he reminded them.

"But my socks have holes," Rene complained.

"Mine are dirty," Dede said.

"I forgot my socks," Jules added.

"O God, this is really embarrassing. I can't take you anywhere!" Erik scolded them and hid his masked face behind his hands, "Madame, my sincere apology. Sometimes they behave like idiots."

Madame Giry showed them to the salon and Meg served a tray with cups of hot chocolate. She handed everyone a cup.

"Dede, Rene, Jules - this is Mademoiselle Meg Giry," Erik told them. The three men stared at Meg open-mouthed. "Don't you want to say hello?" Erik scolded them sternly and Meg found that he sounded just like her mother. She grinned widely and made a courtsy.

"She's so **beautiful** ," Rene gasped.

" **Graceful** ," Dede proudly showed off that he knew a better word.

" **Blonde** ," Jules voiced spellbound and Erik tried in vain to hide his chuckle with a feigned cough.

"I am a dancer," Meg said.

"Then I like dancing," Dede said.

"Dance with me?" Rene asked.

"Stop that and **shut up**!" Erik snapped, "You are a disgrace! Drink your chocolate and keep quite or I forget myself. **Not one word**!"

The three men lowered their heads and sipped at their cups, sitting perfectly still. If they had not had almond shaped eyes they would have made the impression of absolutely normal guests.

"Meg, why don't you show Monsieur Morriere's friends how to dance?" Madame Giry suggested. Meg's face fell into a shocked expression. She could not have been more shocked if it had been suggested she should show them her bedroom.

The three men looked up at her in childlike excitement but did not dare beg her for Erik had told them to keep quiet. Meg couldn't help but smile. "Allright. Come to the livingroom, we make some space there and I show you how I dance. Would you like that?" They nodded eagerly, grinning like excited children.

When the four had left the room, leaving Madame Giry and Erik alone in the salon, he allowed himself to slump back in his chair and stretched his legs with a groan, covering his eyes with his hand. Only now did he dare to relax, giving away how tired he was.

"Hard day?" Madame Giry asked sympathetically.

"Hmmm? O, you are still here... I'm sorry for being rude," Erik mumbled, "I had a twelve hour shift after a very short night - and sometimes they are just annoying. They are... like children, but different. It's hard to explain. Sometimes I want to strangle them and sometimes I don't want to live one day without them." He shifted into a half-lying half-sitting position and covered his eyes with his arm. His breathing became even and at first Madame Giry thought he might have fallen asleep, but then he asked softly: "Tell me what's going on in **my** opera."

It was a question she had heard far too often in the last years. Of course Erik could not have his eyes and ears everywhere, he needed people who provided information and the ballet mistress surely heard every rumor about everyone. She took a deep breath. "I'm not sure you want to know..." she started.

"I want to know everything, as usual," Erik answered and got up, massaging his temples, he had a terrible headache.

"Are you not well?" Antoinette asked worriedly. She had not seen him in such a weakened state in the last years, or at least he had never let on if he was in pain.

"May I?" Erik asked and gestured to the settee. Upon her nod he laid down and covered his eyes with his arm again. It was good just to lay there and allow his tense muscles to relax, especially his neck and back was giving him trouble again and the headache was growing stronger each passing minute.

"The opera... well, let's start with this: There are still little accidents and mishaps. Nothing too serious, but the managers were surprised to see what can go wrong without a ghost to interfere in each and every production."

Erik chuckled. "Told you so. Not every mishap was my doing."

"They still struggle with the costs of the chandelier crash. A chandelier like that is expensive and of course the families of the victims or the people who were hurt demand compensation."

"What?" Erik lifted his arm and stared at Antoinette, "Of course they decline?"

"Actually no. They don't want a bad reputation so they pay even if the lawyers told them that it was not sure if they were obliged to pay. It is a rather complicated matter, I do not understand these things. But the managers decided it would be better to pay something than risk many court trials."

Erik nodded and kept quiet as the information sank in. "Funny. No one sued **me** ," he commended.

Antoinette shrugged. She did not know anything about these things. "You'd be surprised of Monsieur Reyer's progress as conductor. Since he knows you are no longer there he's not constantly on the edge and so he became a much better conductor. You'd be surprised just how good he is now that he does not fear you waiting for him with the lasso behind the next corner."

Erik shifted uncomfortably, but did not open his eyes. The light would make his headache worse. He didn't like to hear that it was him who had hindered the conductor from doing his very best. "He never was in any danger," Erik replied, "He should have known."

"Reyer is a very sensitive man and he feels responsible for everything that is not perfect in the orchestra, the chorus or the solo singers. So he is constantly under very high pressure from his own sense of duty - and with you always complaining he was sure you'd kill him on first sight."

Erik sighed. "I guess I owe that man an explanation, he misunderstood completely. It was never about him."

The ballet mistress' eyes went wide. She had never expected Erik would feel the need to apologize to anyone.

"The ballet has some new dancers. They are... not well trained, they are lazy and plaintive, they want to be on stage but they do not want the harsh training and rehearsals. Even if I make them dancing in the rehearsal room with the mirrors so they can see their mistakes they do not get the will to overcome their laziness and practice properly. That's what I always say to them: ' Dancing is perfection of the body, you have to control every fiber of your body, every hair and every breath. Not the tiniest gesture should happen involuntarily, you need perfect control. And this perfection comes from sweat, pain and tears. You do not want your feet to bleed? Get another job. You want to eat as much as you like without controlling your shape? Get another job. You want to relax and feel good? Get another job. Ballet is bodies in perfect harmony with music and this comes from an iron will and the willingness to suffer. You have to crucify yourself to become a good dancer. The more suffering you can endure, the closer to perfection you can come."

Erik grinned. That was his ballet mistress as he liked her. If the conductor and the director had the very same spirit there would be no need for an Opera Ghost to crack the whip every so often. In that, Erik and Antoinette were kindred spirits, although Erik did not understand too much about ballet, his particular interest was the music itself. While Madame Giry saw the ballet as the main part of any production, Erik knew the music was the most important part and everything else just embellishment, like a picture frame. The picture does not need a frame but a good frame can make it look better. A frame without picture is nothing. But he knew better than to discuss that with her - she was ballet mistress, she had to focus on the dancing.

"What about the singers?" Erik asked and now Antoinette shifted uncomfortably. She knew this to be a very sensitive topic.

"Christine gets solo parts. Not the leading soprano, but she does get solos, like Siebel in Faust or the queen in Martha or Klothilde in Norma." Erik grimaced. Not the roles he had hoped for. "Since Carlotta refused the Queen of the Night and preferred to sing Pamina, Christine get's the Queen of the Night."

"Really?" Erik lifted his arm from his face. "That's good. At least **one** role where she can prove herself."

"And that's what makes her terribly nervous," Antoinette sighed, "She's... shy. Uncertain of her own abilities. She's so very young... sometimes I wonder if you were pushing her too hard." Finally she found the courage to tell him what she had wanted to say for a very long time but never dared to, fearing the wrath of the Phantom of the Opera. But that man who was lying on her settee did not frighten her. He looked rather weak.

"My poor Christine," Erik groaned, "She needs me. She is such a gentle soul, she had no talent for intrigues or open hierarchic encounters. She could dethrone Carlotta any time, but I think she's too... soft to do that. And of course I'm afraid that since our last singing lesson was more than a year ago some of her old mistakes might resurface."

"Are you sure this would be a good idea?" Madame Giry asked alarmed.

"Why not?"

"I thought you were not allowed to go near the opera?"

Erik sat up and faced her. "I do not need the opera house to give her a singing lesson. There are certain restrictions I have to follow or I lose my chance to clean my record and start a new life, so I have to keep away from the opera house - at least I mustn't be caught there. But every other place in Paris I can go."

"You know that the managers hired a private investigator to shadow you?" Madame Giry asked.

Erik chuckled. "Of course. The police keeps an eye on me and currently there are three investigators to keep an eye on me. I hope they have fun spending much time in the slums watching me sorting out garbage. Today must be a very exciting day to shadow me, I just hope they have warm cloaks. Maybe you should have invited them too..." he gleefully explained, then changed the topic back to what he really wanted to know: "Is Carlotta, in any way, harming my poor Christine?"

"Erik... Carlotta is Carlotta. She's not a friendly person by nature," Antoinette answered evasive.

" **What has she done to my poor Christine?** " Erik questioned, suddenly his voice and his stance every inch the threatening Phantom again.

"She... has a sharp tongue, but she didn't do anything in particular. She's bossing everyone around, she treats Christine like any other girl in the opera."

"You are not answering my question, Madame," Erik whipsered menacingly.

"Erik, this has to stop... I can't be on your side, you know that. I told you..."

"You, Madame, were quite eager to accept my little tokens of appreciation," Erik snapped, "What do you think would Clemenceau think if I told him that I did not need to blackmail you into running errands for me, that you helped me willingly?"

"Willingly? You threatened to take my little girl hostage if I wouldn't accept your dirty money," Giry exclaimed furiously, "And at first it was only small favours, nothing illegal, and then you slowly made me your accomplice, spinning a terrible web of threats and dirty money until I was tangled helplessly and had no choice."

"Now I am the culprit? Thanks for telling me. If you don't want the money, feel free to give it back to the funds of the opera house!" Erik retorted angrily, "O wait... you already spend it. You can't give once Centime back!" He shook himself like a dog in the rain, then whispered to himself: "I thought... God, what a fool I am." He got up and called out: "Dede! Rene! Jules! We are leaving **now**!"

"Erik, wait!" Madame Giry got up and placed one hand on his arm soothingly, "Tell me - what did you think?"

"I thought... maybe..." he shook his head.

That moment the door opened and Meg, her face red from exertion, entered. She was smiling happily. "Please - only a little more. They are really sweet. If you give me half an hour more they can dance a walz."

"Erik, please, let me explain," Madame Giry said without letting go of his arm.

He nodded sat down at the settee, Meg closed the door and soon they heard Meg and the three men laughing.

Madame Giry sat down beside him. "You know that I knew you before you became the Phantom of the Opera? The fair..."

"I know. You were the one who called the police because you knew I was being abused," Erik answered, "I know, Antoinette, I always knew."

"Yes. And you remember how I found you one day in the opera?"

Erik's shoulders slumped. "I'd rather not."

"You were ill, weren't you?"

"Well... Injured would be the better term. I had dared to venture outside and was beaten."

She smiled. "I went down to prove to the other dancers that there was no Phantom of the Opera. And then I found you, barely able to crawl."

They fell silent, remembering what had happened after that. Madame Giry had brought him food and blankets and he had given her small thank you gifts when he had recovered. It was weird that it had started quite innocently, until Erik had decided he would no longer live on leftovers from the buffet and wear old costumes which had been sorted out by the costume department. And that was when the whole affair had gathered its own momentum.

Giry smiled bitterly as she remembered. It had been an act of pity that she had given him food and blankets, one time. The next day he had been gone. A few weeks later he came to her dressing room with some flowers to thank her. A month later he innocently asked her if she could deliver a letter for him. If she had known what that letter was about she would never have agreed and when she learned about it she had already accepted too much of his dirty money to say no. She had scolded herself for not seeing what he was up to until it was too late. Delivering a letter or buying some things for him was nothing illegal, she really had not seen the truth. When her husband had fallen ill and she had that terrible accident that nearly crippled her and ended her career as dancer he had helpfully offered money - pay for the hospital for both of them, pay for the residential school Meg had temporarily been sent to when both parents were in hospital. Yes, he had been quite generous to them. Until she first tried to refuse one request of his, then she had seen that other side of him, not the polite gentleman who was so thankful for every kind word and so very generous with his wealth, then he had shown his ugly face - not literally of course - and threatened to take her child hostage. He surely was a man of two faces, not just in his physical appearance. He could be charming, polite and generous - but if anyone crossed him he could be cruel, really cruel and sometimes it seemed he could smell the personal little weakness that would make a person crack. Sometimes he did not even need violence or dark threats - sometimes his gentle friendliness was even more toxic, even if he had the best intentions.

"Time has not been kind on either of us," Erik said, interrupting her in her deep thoughts, "And we did what we thought we had to."

"Sounds like you are not so sure any longer?" she asked, careful not to anger him.

He shook his head slightly and smiled bitterly. "In retrospect it is always easy to say which decision was wrong. If I could foresee the future I would play the stock market."

"You have changed," Madame Giry observed.

Erik barked a laugh that seemed unreal. "Tell that to Dr. Benevole!"

"Let's see what the dancers are up to," Antoinette suggested and opened the door.

Meg was dancing and the three men were more or less hopping about around her, all three singing some popular tune, all three out of breath. When Meg noticed they were being watched she asked excited: "Mama, can we invite them again?"


	20. Christmas Chaos

**Education of the Heart**

 **Christmas Chaos**

Christmas was a surprise for Erik for he was not used to celebrations. And as his three friends informed him cheerfully, Christmas started at 26th of December and lasted to the 28th.

"Why 26th? It's 25th, isn't it?" Erik asked, confused that they did not accept his teaching them the days of the month but had another view.

"No, 25th is church day," Dede informed him, "26th and the..." he counted with the help of his fingers "...the next two days is Christmas."

"I'm not sure you understood anything about Christmas," Erik sighed, he was working on a special clock he combined with a music box so it would play another short melody every full hour. Of course one could disconnect the music box because in the night you don't want music every hour. It worked mainly like any other grandfather-clock with a pendulum that had to be wound up almost every day and not only every week like other clocks of that type for the music box needed most of the energy stored in the counterweights and the pendulum.

Dede build himself up like Erik usually did when he was lecturing them. "25th is church day. Singing and punch." Erik grinned. They obviously understood more than he gave them credit for even if most people were Christians the obvious things were not the religious ones. "Rich men make gifts. Many gifts. So many, they throw away old things," Dede went on. Erik nodded. This was logical - average working class people did not have the money to make any presents. Christmas presents were only for the rich ones. But of course for the garbage workers the thrown away old things were like presents to them.

"Sometimes they get so many gifts, they get confused," Rene added.

"Yes, they throw away new things," Dede confirmed.

"Gifts for us," Jules added cheerfully.

Erik smiled as he answered: "You are right. I was too much thinking in the terms of the mighty and rich." His three friends grinned proudly, for once they had outsmarted their genius-level friend. Erik shook his head and went back to his work.

Only hours later Gontier informed all his workers that they would have to do double shifts from the 25th to the 30th of December, at least in the rich quarters. The normal living areas or the poor ones could easily be neglected, as always. The streets had to be free from snow so everyone could drive to church in an elegant carriage and they would have to dispose of leftovers from the many feasts and things that were thrown away immediately. Erik volunteered to plan the most effective routes, he knew whom he could give the best streets and who would take most things for himself instead of handing them over to the workshop. Of course he planned that everyone should keep things like clothing for themselves and hoped for some nice things for himself.

It was bitter to see that the upper class had so many feasts, they could throw away so much food that when the garbage carts arrived at the dumping ground, the people from the slums were already waiting for them and the food they really appreciated.

* * *

Erik had calculated correctly and so they were loading the garbage in the street where Christine lived when she left for the early performance on 27th. Of course Erik had known when she would be leaving and hoped to catch a glimpse as he always did. She had no idea Erik was regularly driving by to see her, to see her from afar. It was all he dared now, ashamed of his lowly status.

Christine was deep in thoughts, already thinking of the performance, as suddenly a man stood in her way. The short man took off his cap and greeted her: "Bonjour, singer."

She stared at him, at his unusual features and the almond-shaped eyes. She was not afraid, she was just surprised to see what people called "mongoloid idiots" in the streets. They were either given to peasants for they could only do very easy work or to asylums, but not many of them were allowed to go about the streets freely. "Hello," she answered.

"Friend wants to see you," the mongoloid man stated and gently reached out to take her hand, "Please."

Christine drew her hand back. "Thank you, but I have to go to the opera. The performance..."

"Not long. Please. Erik needs you," the mongoloid man begged.

"Erik? You know Erik?" Christine asked in great surprise.

"Come," the man said and led her down the street to the garbage cart. Christine stared at the cart.

The driver was busy untangling the reins and yelled at two other mongoloid men who stood beside the cart grinning sheepishly: "Can't I leave you alone for five **seconds** without you doing something utterly stupid? I told you **never** ever touch the harness or the brindle! Thunder is a very sensitive horse, he **bites** when you cause him discomfort! And **stop grinning**! You ought to be **ashamed** , not proud! You..." That moment he noticed Christine and Dede standing behind Rene and Jules who were still grinning. Their plan had worked, they just needed to distract him and he wouldn't hide from the girl he longed to see. "Christine..." Erik whispered and tried to back away but only slammed into the horse's shoulder.

"Hello Erik," she said, not knowing what else to do.

"He wants you but always hides when sees you," Dede informed her.

"Dede! **Shut up!** " Erik hissed and the three men backed away a little bit. He turned to face Christine since he was running out of alternatives. "Christine... I..." his words were struck in his throat and he could not force them out. He wanted to sink to his knees at her feet, wanted to tell her how sorry he was for what he did to her and beg her to give him a chance to win her forgiveness. He wanted to kiss her feet and tell her how much he loved her. But he could do no such thing, they were in the street at daytime and many people were around them.

Christine looked at Erik. He wore a warm cloak of some odd brown-green. The cloak was made for a heavier man than him, patched in many spots and it was dirty. His head was covered with a woolen knit cap and he wore a shawl. The shawl was made from different wools as if someone had used up the rests from other shawls to knit this. He wore a mask, but it was not the shining white one she knew, it was a brown leather mask. His appearance was the opposite of elegant, he was dirty and ragged. She remembered his immaculate clothing in the opera and that he preferred the finest fabric available in Paris. And now he looked like he had been forced to plunder a trash barrel to get clothes. It brought tears to her eyes to see him in such a state.

"How are you?" she asked, real concern in her voice.

Erik winced and shifted from one foot to the other, his feet constantly moving as if he could not stand still. His eyes lowered in shame he answered: "I never wanted you to see me like this. I am deeply sorry. They... they were not allowed to talk to you. Usually they do not disobey. They..." He stopped himself, telling himself it would do no good to give her a speech she just did not want to hear. Instead he answered her question: "I'm driver of a garbage cart now. I know that can't rival with a **Vicomte** , who's a Navy **officer**..." Again he cut himself short, berating himself for his carelessness. It was as if his tongue was speaking without any permission from himself. He mustn't let her know his frustration, he mustn't show weakness. If he wanted her to like him he should only show her that he was able to keep his dignity even if he was brought low.

Erik cleared his throat and added softly: "I am sorry, Christine. I never wanted you to see me like this. But technically I am still a prisoner and that I go free now is only because I am their guinea pig for some untested psychiatric theory." He blushed with shame and stared at the snowy ground at his feet.

"O Erik, I... please believe me that I never wanted this. When they persuaded me to help them laying a trap for you they... they did not tell me..." Christine said, feeling guilty for his desperate situation.

Erik sighed and looked up as she stepped closer to him. "It's not your fault but mine," he said firmly, "There are still things I have to do, but... I see light at the end of the tunnel. If I do as they tell me I will be declared cured, I will never be sentenced for any crime, I get a chance to start a new life. It is hard, yes, but I think I can endure the hardships. Only one thing I could not endure - not to see you."

Christine bit her lip and looked away. She felt guilty and it pained her to see him like that.

Erik dared to take her hand and press it to his breast, as she looked up at his masked face. "I am making good progress, you see, and I hope that this all will be over in a few months. They say what I did for the widow Buquet shows that I changed and am no longer dangerous."

"The widow Buquet?" Christine asked and her eyes went wide. She had been so shocked that evening the chandelier crashed that she had not really been able to think of the other people he had harmed.

"I support her and her children. It is just not fair that everyone cared for me and no one cared for them - I was the only one who was willing to help. It is tough, but I think it is the only way to..." he gulped. What could he say? The only way he could soothe his conscience? Wouldn't that be too much self-pity? "I am sorry that you have to see me like this," he gestured awkwardly to his clothing, "Right now I can't afford anything but food and half a bed for myself."

"Half a bed?" Christine asked.

He nodded. "I share my bed in the workmen's dormitory with Dede. It could be worse - Dede, Rene and Jules are really loveable guys," he gestured towards his friends and added a bit angrily: "Even if they surely know how to embarrass me in public!" The three men grinned widely and edged closer to him. They knew he was not angry with them any longer.

"I'm sorry, Erik, I have to go now. It was nice to meet you," Christine excused herself. She had never wanted Erik to live under such poor conditions. But she had no idea what to say without hurting him right now.

"Christine... am I allowed to see you again?" he pleaded desperately.

"I don't know... what does the doctor say?"

Erik clenched his teeth. The doctor. Damn that doctor. He did not need to know anything about this. "I'll ask his permission," he promised, "I will protect you even from myself, if I have to. But I... I need to see you, I need to hear your voice. Maybe we could... sing together?"

* * *

When Christine came home after the performance and her dinner with Raoul, she unlocked the door to her flat, giving Raoul a last good-by kiss on the cheek.

"Are you sure I should not see you inside safely?" the Vicomte asked.

"Raoul, that is not necessary. There are more than enough rumors about us, I don't want you to be seen coming into my flat in the evening when my maid is visiting her parents. Please... do not misunderstand this... I trust you and appreciate your help and protection. I feel like I am having a navy officer as my personal bodyguard and cap driver, but... we must not damage our reputation," she answered. She would like to have someone in her flat, without the maid she felt so lonely. But she knew that her neighbours would not miss the fact that a young Vicomte was not only taking her home but staying with her for the night. She could not risk that.

But as soon as she had locked the door and entered the livingroom she wished she had not send Raoul away. The fire in her chimney had been lit and it gave the livingroom a warm glow. Next to the chimney stood a dark figure she recognized immediately. "Erik," she breathed, "O God"

"I'm sorry, my dear, I did not mean to frighten you. Since your maid is visiting her parents I took the liberty of building a fire and cleaning your dishes," he said in that angelic voice of his.

Christine was not sure how to respond. She was frightened for she knew what he was capable of, and it was even more disturbing to know that he had invaded her flat. He had never done that before, had he? Now she was no longer sure. As long as she had thought of him as the Phantom of the Opera it was somehow comforting to know that he avoided leaving the opera house at any cost. Now that he was forced to live and work in the city he no longer had these limitations.

"You are trembling. Are you cold?" Erik asked worriedly, "Forgive me. I should have lit the fire sooner."

"How did you..." she gulped "Did you burgle my flat?"

Erik lowered his head in shame. "I could not sit on the staircase and wait for you. What would your neighbours have said if they knew you are so much as gracing something like me with your look, unworthy as I am?" Christine did not know what to make of this new humility of his. She was frightened of him and knew that even if she screamed for help now he could kidnap or kill her long before any help would arrive. Better not to make him angry. But how could she get him to leave?

"Erik, I do not know what to say," she started, her voice shaking.

"I just wanted to give you a little present," he answered in his most loving voice, "It is nothing of value... but I made it especially for you." He gestured to a rather large longcase clock that stood in the corner, fitting her furniture perfectly. Too perfect to assume he had never been in her flat before, that is. She shivered again at the thought that he had come to her flat again and again, maybe even searched through her belongings, and she had never even guessed.

"Thank you," she answered and went to inspect it, but she could not stop looking at him. She noticed that his brow furrowed as he carefully edged closer to her. Her reaction was not what he had hoped for.

"It plays a Swedish folk tune every hour. It has twelve different tunes. If that lever is up, it plays, if it is down, the music box is disconnected and it is silent. It has to be wound up every other day but you can adjust the time like any other clock," he told her.

"Thank you. That is really sweet of you, Erik," Christine said and managed to smile at him.

"You're welcome," he answered gently, "I'm sorry, I did not mean to frighten you. You must be exhausted after the performance and the Vicomte kept you up late..."

She recognized the threat in his kind words. He knew more about her life than he was supposed to do. And here the doctor had declared him "not dangerous" - what could she possibly think of this?

"Yes, I am really tired," she said, hoping he would leave now, which he did, bidding her goodnight with as much politeness as he could muster.

As soon as the door closed behind him she ran through her flat, even the maid's room, to check if he could possibly have touched anything, but she found nothing. She had hoped so much that he had changed, but that night he had frightened her again. And at the same time she scolded herself for being unfair for he had brought her a really nice gift and had only tried to be nice. She scolded herself for if Raoul had done the same thing she would have found it romantic and certainly not frightening. Poor Erik. He had just tried to give her a gift and make her happy and she was shocked and frightened. She should not have such prejudice against him. But the uneasy feeling did not go away by this reasoning.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik does not want to frighten her, but he does - he still lacks empathy and simply did not think that she would be shocked to find him in her flat._


	21. Secrets Revealed

**Education of the Heart**

 **Secrets Revealed**

It was a more or less normal Sunday in the university hospital. Dr. Benevole waited for his patient in his office. He had hidden all things he did not want them to touch or use, such as notebooks and pencils and even more important, his notes and files. Instead he had put out paper and pencil stubs for Dede, Rene and Jules as well as a chocolate box. It kept them quiet while he and Erik talked.

In the last weeks he had been very pleased with Erik's progress. Of course he knew from Clemenceau what had happened and Erik had told the doctor openly about this. He had even admitted to suffer claustrophobia when locked in. But it was not the claustrophobia that had shaken him so badly, it was the realization what Christine must have experienced when he abducted her. This was great progress and Dr. Benevole was sure the confrontation with the managers could soon happen without any nasty surprises.

The door was opened without a knock, but he knew that Erik did not like to knock. The doctor got up and gasped in shock as he saw Erik. Erik's face, the visible part of it, that is, was ashen, his eyes sunken in and dark shades around them. He swayed on his feet and looked like he might pass out any moment now. Erik's hand was on Jules shoulder as if he needed something to hold onto to prevent himself from falling.

"Erik - what happened?" the doctor asked.

"I'm just a little bit dizzy. I need to sit down," Erik answered, too tired to care about his manners. Jules gently led him to the settee in one corner of the room. Erik did not even try to take off his cloak or his shoes, he just lay down on his back and his eyes closed of their own accord. Just resting his eyes, he convinced himself, the sunlight had hurt them. He fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Dr. Benevole stood there, not knowing what to do. "I need to examine him," he said.

"Erik is tired," Rene told him in a manner a doctor would inform his colleague about a patient.

"Didn't sleep much last nights," Dede added.

"Why didn't he sleep?" the doctor asked, surprised that the mongoloid men were not only willing to help but able to do so.

"He met his girl-singer," Dede explained.

"Girl-singer?" the doctor paled. Could it be that Erik had been visiting Christine Daae? So much for the police and even some private investigators keeping an eye on him. "Christine Daae?"

The three men looked at each other and shrugged as if they didn't know that name.

"Very young woman, dark brown curls and blue eyes?" The doctor asked and their faces lit up.

"Yes, very nice girl," Rene said.

"Very very nice," Dede tried to surpass him.

"Not as nice as blonde dancer," Jules disagreed sulkily. Obviously the three friends had discussed this before.

Dr. Benevole sat down behind his desk and gestured for the three men to take their seats at the small couch-table. He looked to Erik who had curled up in a fetal position and was slightly snoring. The doctor wondered how exhausted the masked man was that he did not wake up when they talked. How many sleepless nights had he spend at the singer's home that his body needed rest so badly he simply refused to wake up despite all noises?

"So... he met Christine Daae and Meg Giry," the doctor mused, "And he never told me."

"Don't tell him you know!" Rene begged.

"We didn't tell you!" Dede added.

The doctor sighed. "Don't worry. He will not be able to do anything to you. He's the one who has to answer for breaking the rules - again."

"Not punish him!" Dede exclaimed horrified, "No!"

"What of us, if punished?" Rene asked, obviously swallowing a few words of his sentence.

"Our fault!" Jules stated.

"Your fault?" the doctor asked.

It took almost an hour until the doctor got the necessary information from them. Obviously Erik had met the Giry's by chance in the street. Maybe it was not such a coincidence with Christine, for Erik was obviously the one who helped in Gontier's office and the doctor remembered that Erik had told him that he qualified as secretary. So, of course, if Erik was the one to plan the different routes for the carts he could easily arrange by chance meetings with almost everyone he wanted. This was no good sign, especially since they passed Mademoiselle Daae's home every Wednesday exactly when she was leaving for rehearsal. The doctor was angry with himself for not giving Erik much more restrictions. He had not forbidden him to help Gontier if he wanted to - and of course Gontier was happy to have a workman who could fill any position in his enterprise. And Erik knew how to get what he wanted. Everyone seemed to be happy - except the doctor who regarded this as severe relapse in the mental illness of his patient. He was still obsessed with the girl, and it was this obsession that had made him so dangerous. Before that he was just an extortionist, but then he had become kidnapper and murderer, which was far worse.

Dr. Benevole decided to wake Erik, which turned out not an easy task. Only when he shook him Erik opened his eyes and looked around in confusion, not knowing where he was at first.

"Did I... sleep?" he asked drowsily, shaking his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts.

"Erik, we have to discuss a serious issue," the doctor stated firmly.

"Yes?" Erik tried to be attentive, but as he rested his head in his arms and could barely keep his eyes open.

"You met the Girys and Mademoiselle Daae?" the doctor asked.

"Hmmm? Maybe..." Erik answered, his eyelids almost closed.

"We talked about that before. You know the rules. You disobeyed."

"I did not. I met them **by chance** and both times it was **them** who invited **me** ," Erik defended himself. He yawned and slumped back on the settee in a half-sitting half-lying position. "Can we discuss this later? I'm... so very tired."

"You wouldn't be if you had not been meeting Mademoiselle Daae each night!" the doctor scolded.

Erik glared at the doctor: "What are you implying by that? I did nothing to compromise her. I gave her some singing lessons, that's all."

"You are not allowed to work as a singing teacher!" the doctor snapped.

"I did not receive anything in return so technically it is no work," Erik objected, "I was only helping a friend, and that is surely not something any of your rules forbid."

"You know perfectly well what I am talking about!" the doctor now shouted, "Your obsession with Mademoiselle Daae is pathological. You... you behave like a drug addicted and she's your drug. You must stay away from her or you'll never overcome your mental illness. In a few years perhaps..."

"Years? **Years**?" Erik sat up, his anger stronger than the exhaustion, "I don't **have** years! You told me that I could see her if I was able to have a normal friendship with her. And that is **exactly** what I am doing now. I do not tell her anything about love or jealousy or that the Vicomte will never make her happy. Nothing. All I am doing is giving her music lessons to support her career. She benefits from that. Do you know how difficult it is to bite my tongue and never say any word about love? But I can do it, for the last week I could do it and you know what? **It is becoming easier each time I see her**."

Dr. Benevole grabbed Erik's collar and gave him a stern rebuke: "You know perfectly well that you are not allowed to confront any of your victims alone! Have you forgotten the escalations? What if she tells you something that you don't like again? Will you slap her or strangle her? You are the greatest danger she'll ever face!"

Erik freed himself and pushed the doctor away: "Thanks to your instructions I learned how to avoid losing my temper in such a violent way."

"And so you stay with her all night?" the doctor asked, afraid of what his patient might do to the poor girl.

"No, of course not!" Erik indignantly retorted, "I would never do anything to compromise her! We just sing for about half an hour and then I leave."

"But your friends told me you were not at home all night long?" Dr. Benevole asked suspiciously.

Erik glared at his friends who grinned sheepishly. "I did nothing bad," he defended himself.

"You know that you have to answer for every minute of the day. Tell me what you were up to and how you lost the policemen who were shadowing you?"

Erik grinned. "Losing them is easy in the slums at night, especially when they are not willing to get their shining boots dirty. And to answer your question: No, I did nothing bad. I just stay close to her home. Not in her flat, of course, just... close."

" **Aha! You were** **breaking the rules again**!" the doctor exclaimed accusingly, "You were spying on her to make sure no visitor was secretly coming to her."

"I am allowed to stay in the streets," Erik retorted angrily, "It is not like I went to the opera or something like that. Although I have to admit that I was tempted to go back."

"What hindered you?" Dr. Benevole asked curiously. He appreciated that Erik admitted to being tempted - and had not given in. There was hope that his patient would sometimes could be considered recovered and not more dangerous than anybody else. Of course Erik would forever be eccentric, but maybe he would no longer be dangerous to anyone. If he could only channel that creative energy he possessed into something good and not in breaking rules.

Erik's face softened and he looked at his three friends. "Dede, Rene and Jules. I could never take them with me down there, that would be far too dangerous for them. I can't go back to my old life and take them with me, and I can't abandon them."

"Did you ever think of what would happen if you were arrested and locked away?" the doctor asked.

Erik nodded wearily. "That is exactly what keeps me from quitting this farce and running away with Christine. I could run with her, but I can't take four people with me on a rather adventurous flight. I have no choice but to swallow my pride and submit myself to whatever orders you and Clemenceau give me."

"You call that **submitting** yourself? Are there any rules you did not break?"

"Yes, I avoid any drugs and do not drink alcohol, as you requested," Erik replied with an innocence that caused the doctor to laugh.

"O my," Dr. Benevole tried to stifle his laughter, "You really can't sort out which rules are more important than others. But next time you feel the need to break a rule, you ask me **before** you do so. I'm sure we'll find a way without you breaking any rules."

Erik stared at him blankly: "But... how could I ask you to help me?" It had never occurred to him that he would get help if he asked for it, on the contrary, his experience was that if he showed any signs of weakness others would just attack him.

"I am your psychiatrist, remember? **All** of your problems concern me, **it is my job to help you**. Get that in that thick skull of yours and stop hiding every important information from me!" Dr. Benevole almost screamed in his frustration.

Erik allowed himself a sly smile as he answered: "Temper, temper, my good doctor. Take a deep breath and if necessary leave the room until you calmed down." It was one of the techniques the doctor had taught him to control himself. Better leave a situation than create a scene or hurt someone. He so much loved to get back at the doctor. Not that he did not like that man, on the contrary, Erik considered the doctor someone close to being his friend, but he did not like being the weaker one in any kind of relationship.

"Okay, since you obviously are not able to play by any rules at all we have to work on that too," the doctor stated calmly, "Freedom does not agree with you. So, from this day on you live here in the hospital. You are allowed to go to work, of course, since that is obviously helpful. But you leave here in time to get to work and have to come back in acceptable time after your work is done. If you can't control yourself I have to control you."

"You can't..." Erik protested angrily.

"You can always chose the asylum or the prison, maybe the death sentence," Dr. Benevole shrugged seemingly unsympathetic.

Before Erik could reply anything his three friends jumped up and threw themselves on him, clinging to him with all their might. "Don't take him away!" Dede begged.

"We look after him," Rene promised.

"Like we do for kitten," Jules added and Erik laughed out loudly at that.

"Like you care for the cat. Yes, you give her milk and you cuddle her but if she messes up, is dirty or injured all you do is bringing her to **me** to care for her!" Erik laughed as he pushed them away. He wiped away the tears which were caused by his laughing fit, "Dr. Benevole - I'd gladly come to live here, here I would be provided with a bed and food and clean clothes and wouldn't have to worry about that each day. But I can't accept that generous offer - except if you take them in as well, meddlesome telltale as they are."

Dr. Benevole shook his head. This man really had a weird perception of the law and social obligations. Obviously Erik still did not accept that it was not him who made the rules and he had no right to bargain about the law. He should be thankful not to be in a prison cell awaiting execution. "Gontier cared for them before," the doctor reasoned.

Dede went to Dr. Benevole and said seriously: "When he cries, hold him." He sounded much like a doctor telling his colleague how to treat a patient with an unusual illness.

"When he screams, wake him," Rene added.

"When he can't sleep, he needs cuddly kitten," Jules stated with as much gravitas as a surgeon before a really difficult surgery.

Dr. Benevole looked at Erik who glared at his friends as if he would strangle them with his gaze. Erik did not like that they told the doctor of his nightmares that haunted him every so often. Dr. Benevole realized that it was not just them who needed Erik but he seemed to need them maybe even more.

"I will let you go - if you do not only agree to meet the managers tomorrow afternoon - Gontier knows you and your friends will not be working tomorrow afternoon - and you accept to learn how to play by rules in the therapy. I don't expect you to be expert in the first session, but you have to try. Agreed?" Dr. Benevole knew he was taking a risk in that, but right now he did not think it would be necessary to stop the experiment and have his patient arrested.

Erik nodded reluctantly. He disliked rules. Rules were only made to hinder him reaching his goals. Dede gently touched Erik's shoulder and said in a soothing tone: "Not alone. Erik not alone." Erik sighed and pushed Dede away, but his eyes gave away that he was moved by the way his friends cared for him.

"The managers will ask you about your lair in the cellars and they will of course demand that you compensate the damage you caused. Be prepared to have honest answers for them and do not even think of withholding any information from them," the doctor informed him.

Erik smiled arrogantly: "I anticipated that. Sometimes you are so damn easy to read."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik is doing better than his reputation would let on - especially with his three friends._


	22. Confrontation: Gilles Andre and Richard

**Education of the Heart**

 **Confrontation: Gilles Andre and Richard Firmin**

Dr. Benevole knew that he was taking a risk having his patient Erik and the two managers of the opera house in one room. Therefore he had the conference room, not any treatment room, in the hospital prepared for the meeting. He intended this to look rather like any other business meeting than anything else. But of course the doctor had a group of care workers ready to intervene, should the need arise and Erik lose his temper.

Previous to the confrontation, the doctor had told the managers how Erik felt about the opera, especially that and why he considered "his salary" was something they rightfully owed him, and Erik knew by now that the managers wanted him to refund every damage he had ever caused.

The atmosphere was icy. The managers wore their dark grey suits and Erik wore a similar suite, they were dressed as if all three had worked hard to look as similar as possible. Even their shirts, neckties and pocket watches with the silver chains matched. Erik obviously demanded to be treated as equal and somehow had managed to acquire the fitting costume. But he did not wear the white mask but a beige one, which somehow made him look less intimidating.

The three men sat at the large table and glared at each other, but no one said one word. They seemed to have a contest where the first one to move - and be it a flicker of an eyelash - would loose the staring competition.

"Messieur..." the doctor started and the three men jumped, startled by the doctor's words. They seemed to have forgotten he was there. "May I introduce you formally?"

"No need for that," Erik spat, "I already know Gilles - lick-the-minister's-boots - Andre and Richard I'm-only-here-because-I'm-his-buddy Firmin."

"Such brave words from such a coward," Firmin retorted, "Who was the one too cowardly to talk to anyone face to face and hid behind parlor tricks?"

"Gentlemen, please," Dr. Benevole interfered, knowing this would not do, "Can we keep this strictly business?" He felt odd telling them this was about business when this was nothing about business and everything about hurt feelings, hurt pride. But he was sure the three men at the table would never ever admit that the other side was able to hurt them or talk about their feelings, but they surely would talk if they could fool themselves into believing it was just "business".

Firmin took a few papers out of his leather briefcase and pushed them over the table to Erik. "This is what you owe us," he stated, "First page is the damage you caused, second page the compensation we had to pay to your victims to avoid more trouble and third the money you extorted."

"I never got any money from you," Erik defended himself.

"But you did get 20.000 Franc a month from Lefevre for more than two years," Andre stated, "And where do you think he got the money from? He did not earn that much. He took it from the opera's funds, that's why the finances of the opera are such a disaster."

"If they are a disaster, it is because you are not doing your job properly," Erik spat.

Firmin looked as if his head would explode any minute now. The doctor wondered if he should go in between them to make sure they did not strangle each other - right now he was not sure it would be Erik who would do the strangling in the end.

"Gentlemen..." the doctor tried to bring them back to the topic, "Monsieur Erik Morriere, would you please look at their figures before you dismiss it casually and offend them?"

"With pleasure," Erik sneered, "Nothing better to prove one wrong than the evidence he himself provided." He took the papers and looked through them. Dr. Benevole noticed that he paled slightly. Finally Erik put down the papers and said: "I have to admit there are claims I will have to accept. Let's put the fact that I am already broke aside - you miscalculated."

"Care to enlighten us?" Firmin asked and leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed.

"Gladly. First, the compensation you paid to the injured visitors. Forget it, that was nothing you were to pay, so I won't repay that."

"What?" Andre gasped, "Are you telling us we should have risked the good reputation of the opera house and tell them to ask the Opera Ghost for compensation? You, a **garbage collector** without any noteworthy income?" The way he pronounced the word "garbage collector" made clear it was meant as an insult. Dr. Benevole grabbed Erik's arm before the masked man could jump to his feet. Erik glared at Andre, but he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself so he could answer without anger.

"Second, the money you call 'extortion'. That was my salary, rightfully earned," Erik reasoned.

"Rightfully earned? What did you ever do, except blackmail and damage?" Firmin spat.

That was too much for Erik. He jumped to his feet, almost overturning the table in his movement. "Are you really that stupid or do you just look like an idiot?" Erik roared, "Without **me** the opera would never have its reputation! Lefevre was good in licking the patron's boots but **I** was the one to make all the decisions in the arts." He took a deep breath and sat down again, forcing his fists to unclench. "If you had just let me do my work in peace we could have gotten along very well."

Now Firmin lost his temper, if his friend Andre hadn't held him back he would have attacked Erik physically. "You impertinent bastard! What do you think you are? Our boss? You are even more mad than I ever feared you were! You belong in an asylum, freak!"

That was too much, Erik pushed the large table aside as if it had no weight at all and backhanded the manager hard enough that he stumbled and fell. But before he could punch him again, Dr. Benevole had grabbed Erik from behind and pushed him back onto one seat. The heavy doctor used his weight to pin him down, at least long enough for Erik to calm down a bit.

"Do we need to restrain you?" the doctor asked threatening.

Erik shook his head. "No. I can control my temper."

"I doubt that," Firmin commended dryly as he got up.

Erik took a deep breath. "If you ever call me a **freak** again..." he threatened.

"I know," Firmin replied, "We know your taste for accidents."

"Gentlemen, please. Could we go back to the real topic at hand?" the doctor asked.

"Very well," Erik said and put up the table again, "Maybe I can sort this out for you. The first year after the opening the opera was new - so everyone wanted to see it and be seen there. Even without any music at all the tickets would have been sold, maybe you would have made more money if the audience was allowed to present themselves on stage. In the second year, the novelty had worn off, less tickets were sold and many patrons refused to continue their support. Now I had to do something and, after some... err... gentle persuasion on my part Lefevre did what I told him."

"Yes, we experienced your **gentle persuasion** first hand," Andre dryly tossed in.

Erik pretended not to have heard: "Look it up in your books. Summer of the second year - there are some minor accidents. Then the style of the productions changes, there are major changes in the cast and patrons come back and the ticket selling increases rapidly. By the way - without any new productions since I left the opera will lose all it's regular customers soon. Why don't you stage new productions?"

"Because, Monsieur Opera Ghost, a new production costs money - which we don't have, thanks to your ' **gentle persuasion** ' through ' **disasters beyond our imagination** '," Firmin snapped.

Erik grew very quiet. This was something he had never thought about. The Opera Populaire was the best opera house in France, the Republic of France had great interest in having an opera house that would not be rivaled by any other in the world. So Erik had never thought about where the money would come from. He had thought he was taking money like one would take sand from a desert - from an infinite supply. He had been wrong and it was painful to learn that his actions had caused harm to the quality of the opera productions he cherished.

He started biting his nails as he thought about a way out of this situation without having to admit that he was wrong. "Maybe... we could start this conversation anew? Forget what we have said and try to concentrate on the really important task here?" he suggested.

"And what would that be?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"The **OPERA** , of course!" Erik, Andre and Firmin answered as one.

"Sorry..." Dr. Benevole had been so caught up in his role as the psychiatrist who studied the interaction that he had absolutely forgotten that to the three men before him the experiment or their own mental condition was irrelevant, at least they did not accept that it mattered. They thought about nothing but the opera house.

Erik took a deep breath and started carefully: "I am willing to admit, that I made... mistakes. And I understand that you try to get as much money back as possible - nothing personal, that's your job." Dr. Benevole smiled. This was one of the calming down techniques he had taught Erik - to think if this was really a personal offence or if the other one just did not know Erik would perceive it as an insult. Erik continued calmly: "Again, before you just ask for a certain sum - look it up in the books. It is all there. The second year in summer I had to start punishing Lefevre for not following my instructions. This lasted for about half a year, after the disaster at the Christmas gala he gave in. So in the third year after the opening you can easily see that there were new productions, major changes in cast and orchestra, and the ticket selling went up again, despite the now higher ticket prices. Plus there were a few new patrons. Look it up, it is all there."

"And what do you think this tells us?" Andre asked.

"That I was doing very good work as some sort of consultant," Erik answered, "And so my salary was rightfully earned."

"I doubt that," Firmin replied, "I do not think the profit increased in the third year. But I have to admit the regular rumors about the Opera Ghost in the newspapers were quite good publicity."

Dr. Benevole liked what he heared. They were talking to each other and trying to find some sort of agreement - and Erik was ready to admit he made mistakes. This was the understatement of the year - mistakes! These were serious crimes! But it was a good sign that he did no longer try to accuse everyone else and admitted that it was - at least partly - his fault. Maybe they would be able to reach some sort of agreement?

"Just look up the numbers," Erik stated calmly, "Then we see who is right and who is wrong."

"Yes, that is good!" Firmin agreed and before the doctor knew what was happening the three men reached for their hats and cloaks. Erik wore the brown cloak and the brown hat he now preferred when in public at daytime.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" the doctor asked.

"Why not?" Andre asked, "We look it up in the books, then we do not need to talk about if or when."

"No, it's just... Monsieur Morriere can't go to the opera house without the permission from Clemenceau. Everything else would result in his arrest. Shouldn't we ask Clemenceau to accompany us?" the doctor suggested.

" **NO!** " This "no" came from the managers and Erik at once. Obviously neither one of them had any intention of letting a magistrate see the books.

Erik thought about it. If he went with them now, they would have the perfect opportunity to have him arrested and everything he had fought for so hard would be in vain. He would not risk that. "Okay, we do it like this - you look it up. We meet next week again and discuss the numbers again. If you calculate the average profit from the second year and then the third year you see the increased profit. Then deduct my salary from the increased profit. I am absolutely sure you'll have to calculate the 'damage' again - maybe there won't be any damage at all. Just do the math."

"You are very confident about that, aren't you?" Firmin asked skeptically, "And what if we do the calculation as you suggested and you still owe us money? As you said yourself, you are broke."

Erik shrugged and smiled arrogantly: "Maybe I have some nest egg hidden somewhere. If I really have to refund something, I ask Clemenceau's permission to go to my old flat and get it. But I doubt that I owe you one Franc - on the contrary, I guess you owe me a few months salary."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _to be continued..._


	23. Confrontation: Andre and Firmin (cont)

**Education of the Heart**

 **Confrontation: Gilles Andre and Richard Firmin (cont.)**

Dr. Benevole was very optimistic for the next meeting between his patient and the managers. They were trying to bring the conflict to a rationalistic level and not quarrel about hurt pride and vanity. It is much easier to talk about numbers in books than about who is right and who is wrong - for then it would be a question of honor and this could lead to even more nasty fighting - literally.

Erik came to the meeting alone, he did not tell where he had left his friends, but he had decided it would be easier if they would not accompany him. Maybe he was ashamed of them or just did not want to show any weakness. The doctor decided to ask him about that later.

The managers looked very pleased with themselves, as did Erik. Dr. Benevole tried to guess if this was just some sort of threatening gesture like wolves in a hierarchy fight or if they really believed they would win this argument.

"We did look it up in the books," was the first sentence spoken by Andre. He reached for the heavy suitcase he had with him and took out a notebook which he handed to Erik who studied the figures carefully.

Firmin said: "You were the one who's wrong in his calculations."

Erik shook his head. "No, this proves me right. See? Exactly as I told you, the ticket selling increased and new patrons came to support the opera."

"Yes, it is true. The second year was a financial disaster, but not only due to the fact that not even half of the tickets were sold. You see the costs of damage repair?" Andre stated.

Erik's brow furrowed and he pressed his lips together as if he was having a sour taste in his mouth. "No... the numbers of the receipts are correct, but you jump to conclusions and they are wrong."

"Care to enlighten us?" Andre mocked.

"Certainly. First, not all damages you list here had something to do with me. Most of them were really just accidents," Erik explained and stopped himself shortly to look at the managers. They looked at each other, then nodded. They knew they couldn't blame the Opera Ghost for everything that went wrong - they knew from the last year when he certainly was not there that sometimes misfortunes just happened. They did not wish to go into detail now and waited for Erik to continue. "Second, you see how many tickets were sold after Lefevre did what I told him to do? You see the support from the new patrons?"

"Not 20.000 Franc a month," Firmin dryly replied.

"On the contrary - the profit increase was more than 20.000 Franc," Erik retorted and pointed to a certain number on one page of the notebook.

" **Ha**! That is a joke, isn't it? You can't calculate like this!" Andre exclaimed angrily, "You **can't** just compare the loss in the second year and then the profit plus the sponsoring from the patrons and the support from the state in the third year! You caused much of the loss in the second year and the support from patrons can never be counted as 'profit'! You can't count the support from the state as 'profit'!"

"Can't I? Well then, how would you calculate?" Erik asked, angry that they did not accept his reasoning.

"The ticket sells increased, I give you that. Let's ignore the question if this was due to the publicity you created in the tabloid papers or the quality of the opera and ballet productions," Firmin offered and Erik snorted offended. He would never admit that ticket sells did not necessarily correlate with the quality of the music. "But if you want to calculate the value of your **highly unwanted** 'services' you have to do it like this: increase in ticket sells minus damage - this is not 20.000 Franc a month, it is not even 20.000 Franc a year. Do the math!"

Erik quickly calculated how the managers had calculated. If their numbers were correct he had caused much more damage than profit. "You mustn't exclude the support," Erik stated, "Don't forget that many new patrons offered..."

"Yes, but I checked Lefevre's notes. He desperately needed to find patrons for he would not be able to pay you and he feared for his live and the lives of the employees if he wouldn't pay. It is not like your ideas how to run a theater brought in new patrons, no, it was his desperate begging and great efforts that did the trick," Firmin interrupted him.

"You mustn't trust Lefevre - why do you think he never called the police?" Erik replied sharply.

"We trust him much more than you!" Andre exclaimed angrily.

"Gentlemen, please!" Dr. Benevole interfered before the situation would escalate, "We won't come to any solution like this. Maybe you could try a different approach?"

"What would that be?" Erik asked, "They are just denying the truth."

"We could say the same about you," Firmin retorted.

Dr. Benevole got the impression of three schoolboys fighting over who was more wrong than the others. "Different approach. Erik, you told me that you cherished the opera. And you admit that you did commit crimes and owe them compensation?"

"Yes, but not like they..."

"Stop it, please," the doctor cut him off, "Messieurs, you know that he can't repay everything, don't you? Why not take what he has to offer now to overcome the current difficulties and talk about the rest later?"

The managers looked at each other in silent communication. They had never thought they would get anything back. "He will never be able to make up for the damages, but it is a start," Andre admitted and looked to Erik: "How much?"

Erik shrugged. "I do not know. I have some... nest egg, as I told you before. But I do not know how much this is. If I am allowed to go back to my old flat I can fetch it."

"No! Certainly not! You just want to become a ghost again!" Firmin objected.

"Actually, if he had any intention to do this, he would have done so long ago," Dr. Benevole spoke in Erik's favor.

"Only if you show us the way to your robber's cave," Andre demanded.

"That would be fine, if I am allowed to fetch my compositions and other artwork and no one will ever take that away from me," Erik answered, "Everything else can be replaced."

"We've seen the score of 'Don Juan Triumphant'," Firmin answered, "I do not think we would even want your compositions."

Before anyone could interfere Erik had grabbed him by the neck and pushed him down to the floor. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare pretend you had any idea what music might be!" he hissed, "I'll shut you up for good, you and your pig's ears!"

Dr. Benevole and Andre grabbed Erik from behind and with their combined strength managed to force him to let go of Firmin's neck.

"Erik! Is that how you control yourself?" Dr. Benevole scolded him breathless.

Erik freed himself, but did not attack again. "This is entirely **his** fault. How dare he? **How dare you**?"he roared, but stayed where he was.

"Calm down, Erik, please," the doctor stepped up before him and put a hand on his shoulder, "Look at me. Look at **me**! He just said he did not want your compositions. That is exactly what you wanted, isn't it? That no one takes them away to be published under another name?"

"I'm no fool. I know what they think about my opera. They do not understand it. They are too ignorant and..." Erik hissed.

"Yes, we've seen the score. The public won't like it, so we will not stage it," Firmin said and Erik just nodded. He knew his opera was too complicated for the stupid masses. It was a bit avant-garde, some musicians would appreciate it, but most people would simply fail to understand it. "And I still hate the score," Firmin added, fingering his throat.

"My sincere apology," Erik said with a slight bow, "I do not take insults lightly, not even from a tone-deaf oaf, but I didn't mean to harm you."

"Thank god you are no singer! You'd be quite busy killing all music critics in France!" Andre sighed and whispered to Firmin: "He's worse than Carlotta and Giry combined!"

"And I have better ears than you imagine," Erik remarked snidely, "What would your dear wife say if I told her about your quite intimate conversation with Giselle the red-haired ballet rat?" Firmin paled at that but kept quiet.

"Gentlemen, please!" the doctor again intervened, "Maybe we can agree that Monsieur Morriere offered to open his... lair to you and you will not take any of his artwork from him. That is a very good agreement, isn't it?" He tried to sound cheerful, but he still had his hand on Erik's shoulder to make sure the man stayed where he was.

"It is a start," Firmin reluctantly agreed.

Dr. Benevole looked at Erik, who answered with barely controlled anger: "I agree. But if I give you the money, I want to have some saying in..."

" **NO**!" both managers exclaimed horrified.

"I just want you to listen to my suggestions," Erik reasoned, "Like you would listen to the suggestions of any patron."

" **Patron**?" Firmin spat and if the doctor had not been standing between them he would have punched Erik now.

"Stop this!" the doctor demanded, "Let me go in-between and do the talking. It was a long day for all of us. I will arrange the trip to the cellars and inform you about Clemenceau's decision. Erik, get off of your high horse. You are not the one who has any right to make any demands now, so just shut up! And you, Messieurs, maybe you put your petty need for revenge aside and appreciate that he is cooperating of his own free will."

They stared at the doctor and suddenly Erik laughed out loud: "O my. Now you forget yourself, my good doctor. May I suggest that you consult your supervising colleague? I guess you are far too much emotionally involved right now!"

Dr. Benevole stared at Erik open-mouthed. How did the masked man always manage to slip into a position as if he was everyone's superior? The knowledge that Erik was right in this did nothing to make him feel better.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Thanks for reading and please review. Next chapter should be up on Monday, I hope._


	24. Deadly Peril

**Education of the Heart**

 **Deadly Peril**

Dr. Benevole had underestimated the magistrate's objections to the request that Erik would be allowed to show them the way to his secret hiding place. Of course the magistrate wanted to go with them and he insisted on taking armed guards with them to make sure Erik would not escape or lead them into a trap. Erik would have to wear a chain that prevented him from running around wrists and ankles and additionally some sort of leash around his neck to make it easier to control him.

"I do not think it will be necessary," the doctor objected, "On the contrary, if we force him to endure public degradation he'll lose what little trust he has in humanity. It would destroy everything he achieved in therapy so far. We have to trust him."

"You may trust him all you like - but do not complain to me when his lasso tightens around your throat," Clemenceau snapped, "We take the chains with us and twelve armed guards. If he makes the slightest suspicious movement they will shoot him. And they will not shoot to kill but to permanently disable him. I trust you to inform him about this."

* * *

To Dr. Benevole's surprise Erik was neither surprised nor did he object to twelve guards coming with them. "I can escape twelve or twelvehundred guards," he replied with an amused sparkle in his eyes, "But why would I? What would Christine think if I broke my promise to her?"

"Your promise to her?" the doctor was not so much surprised that Erik kept seeing Christine.

"I promised to do everything to become an honorable man, worthy of her attention. She would not be ashamed to have me as her friend," Erik answered.

"And... the Vicomte?" Dr. Benevole asked.

Erik clenched his fists and exhaled slowly. "If she makes the mistake encouraging his pursuit further, she will suffer the consequences. The boy is not good for her. But I will not force her to marry me. I am absolutely sure she will understand that it would be a mistake to marry him, so... I just wait and give her time to realize that. She's so very young, I was pushing her too hard, I will not repeat that mistake."

The doctor decided not to commend on that. He knew he must not push his patient too much, for now, Erik was doing well and Mademoiselle Daae had not complained about Erik's visits, even when the doctor went to see her and told her she could always come to him if she needed help dealing with Erik, she had just told him that she was still uneasy around Erik but he was the perfect gentleman now and very helpful for she had to learn a new role.

* * *

The managers waited nervously with Clemenceau and twelve guards at one of the small doors for the stagehands. All of them had agreed that it would be better not to create a great stir, so they met very early in the morning when no one of the employees of the opera house would be up. Erik arrived together with Dr. Benevole, who looked rather drowsy, while Erik was in very good mood. He greeted everyone politely, even the guards, and pointed out to them how he preferred to be shot if necessary. All of them ignored his macabre joke.

Erik led them through the dark corridors. Everyone had a lantern, the managers even had a bottle with lamp-oil just to be save, only Erik had nothing of that sort. He would have found his way in the dark as well. He pointed out how the dust was covering the floor and they could see that in the last six months surely no one had been there, except some rats. He moved slowly, very controlled, to make sure no one would be spooked by his movements. Somehow he behaved a bit like a tour guide, lecturing about the structure and how the foundation was designed and build.

Suddenly he stopped and sniffed. "What is is?" Clemenceau asked alarmed.

"Shhhh - quiet!" Erik whispered, sniffed again and turned round to walk a few steps into one small corridor at the left side. He turned back and did the same with the main corridor, then repeated his odd behavior two more times. "O god," he whispered.

"What? What's wrong?" Andre asked nervously.

"No no no no no no!" Erik screamed, " **No**!" He hit the wall with his fist so hard the skin on his knuckles broke.

"No what?" Clemenceau asked, he, too, was becoming nervous.

Erik turned to face them, in the light of their lamps they could see that his face was white, the beige mask oddly darker than his skin. "Messieurs, tell me, is some employee of the opera house missing? Or a patron, or a friend of a friend of an employee? Anyone?"

The managers shook their heads. They did not know anything about someone being missed.

Erik turned to Clemenceau: "Any information about a missing person?"

Clemenceau shuddered. Whatever Erik had found was not good.

Erik took a deep breath and informed them in a pained voice: "I am afraid we have to brace ourselves for the worst."

"That would be?" Firmin asked.

"A corpse," Erik answered, not trying to hide his distress, "It is that smell. I have no idea what happened while I was away. It is not the direct way to my lair, but... I need to know what happened. Maybe it is just a bunch of dead rats, maybe a dead cat, I need to know."

"I agree," Clemenceau said, "This is more important now. Lead the way!"

Erik forced himself to walk slowly despite his anxiousness. The stench became worse the longer they followed the corridors. Sometimes Erik would stop and turn round to take another path. Obviously he was not sure where exactly the body might be.

"Please let it be a rat," Andre whispered, he and Firmin were the last in the line.

Suddenly Erik stopped and told the others to stop as well. He took one lamp and studied the floor carefully, then told everyone to wait, he would disable the trapdoor so it could be opened by hand.

"Can't you just open it?" Clemenceau asked.

"Not if I do not want to risk falling onto a rotting corpse," Erik replied. The managers retreated a few steps and stood around the next corner. They did not want to see what was going on.

Without further warning Erik seemed to vanish through the wall. Clemenceau cursed.

They could hear some noises as if heavy bolts were moved, then Erik reappeared, he literally fell from the ceiling. His suit, hat and shoes were covered in dust as if he had been crawling through some very dirty passageway. He turned and squeezed his slender fingers in a small crack between two stones, then pulled at the brick. It moved out a few centimeters, then he turned it to the left. A door in the floor opened. Erik carefully edged closer, but as the stench hit him he turned away and was violently sick, he stood hunched over, his hands clutching his knees for support as he retched.

"What?" Clemenceau asked, his voice high-pitched in his distress.

Erik shook his head, struggling for breath. "God have mercy..." he whispered, "I didn't want this."

Dr. Benevole took the heart and went to the opening with his lantern. He looked down. It was one small room, the walls black from bitumen, it looked like it was a water reservoire. Maybe this was one of the retention basins in case of a flood? Erik had obviously just added a trapdoor so people who did not know how to avoid it would fall in that room and not be able to open the trapdoor to get out on their own. And now there were two bodies, huddled together in a corner, locked in never ending embrace.

They were clearly dead, the color of their skin an odd greenish black. Their clothes were blackened too, but the doctor would have to do an autopsy to be sure. They were dead, at least six month, ten month at most. He turned round to see what the others were doing. Clemenceau and Erik were the only ones to stand behind him, both looking pale, Erik still fighting to control his breathing. The others had obviously taken cover behind the next corner. "They are long dead, at least six months," he stated.

"So... they died when I was miles away from Paris?" Erik asked, his hands still shaking.

"Ask that again after the autopsy," Dr. Benevole answered.

"Am I to arrest him now?" Clemenceau asked, "He killed them."

"I did not!" Erik protested, "This is a **life catch trap**. First, no one is supposed to be here except the rat-catcher and the firemen, and they know how to avoid my security system. Second, if I had been there I would have freed them in time."

"But you did not inform us about the traps, did you?" Clemenceau inquired.

"Can we... ugh... discuss this... later?" Erik asked, one hand clasped over his mouth, trying to stop his stomach from turning.

That moment the managers panicked and ran. "Stop!" Erik called out after them, "Stop! Don't run!" They did not stop. Especially if it was **this** voice that commanded them to stop. Erik sprinted after them. "Stop, there are other traps! Stop or you hurt yourself!"

They finally stopped and turned round to see Erik close behind them - but not one policeman, not the doctor and not the magistrate.

"Are you mad?" Erik gasped, "Do you want to get killed? When I say stop, you stop!" He went a few steps ahead of them and deliberately allowed himself to be caught in a trap - a cage falling down from the ceiling. "If this thing hits you, it can really hurt you. Normally it is just another life catch trap, but the cage is quite heavy." He grabbed one of the bars, twisted it and the cage slowly rose to the ceiling again as if he was winding it up twisting the bar. It took some time until he could squeeze through the gap between floor and cage. Erik dusted off his coat and went to the wall where he opened one seemingly solid stone to find a winder behind it, which he used to lift the cage to the ceiling again. The cage somehow folded itself.

"See why I asked you not to run?" Erik asked, still out of breath, "Now come, I'll show you the way."

Before they could even start they heard a scream, then many voices screaming and yelling.

Erik hid his face in his hands. "O no. No. They activated the wall," he groaned, then shouted: "Don't worry, these are just stage props! Stage props! Don't panic! Stay where you are, I'll come and get you." He turned towards the managers and told them: "Come with me. Stay close and do not even think of going somewhere else." Both men nodded, too scared to do anything else.

When Erik reached the group Clemenceau was berating his men for their cowardly behavior. The managers stared at the scene - everywhere seemed to be dead rats, large spiders and snakes among skulls. "Stage props!" Erik assured them again and took one of the "rats" to show them it was just black wool and wax, same with the spiders and snakes - all just wool, wax and color. Even the skulls were nothing but paper mâché.

Dr. Benevole was down in the basin with his notebook, sketching the two bodies and how they were found in every detail. He was a doctor and right now much more interested in the scientific knowledge about the unusual way the bodies rotted in that special cellar room than in anything else.

Erik turned to the managers and the policemen. "I better show you the way out before you get yourself killed," he stated, his voice calm and soothing, even if he felt like screaming and running.

"Don't tell me there are more of these devilish traps?" Andre exclaimed horrified.

"There are," Erik admitted, "But all of them are life catch traps. You hear me? **Life catch** traps! Not one of them is designed to kill immediately!"

"But if no one frees the victims, they die," Clemenceau reminded him coldly, "God, what sort of madman builds such a labyrinth of horrors?"

"A man who has been hunted by a bloodthirsty mob too many times in his life," Erik answered, still shivering, "This whole labyrinth is designed to distract them, scare them away to save my life. Do you know what it is like to be **hunted by a bloodthirsty mob** with horrible regularity?"

"Can we please leave?" Andre asked, he was close to a panic attack.

Clemenceau decided it would be best to leave the cellars now and return with the team from the medical university who would take the bodies to the autopsy room. He turned to Erik, who was sitting on the floor, his left elbow resting on his knee, his head in his hand. "You lead the way!" he commanded.

Erik pushed himself up with some difficulty. "Please believe me that I did not want any of this," he said, "These two - they should not be here at all, they should not have been able to open any of the doors to the cellars, the firemen keep them locked all the time."

"Obviously not," Clemenceau answered dryly, "And you are under arrest until this investigation is over."

Erik considered running. He could run now, he could run and hide, but he was torn between the urge to run and his desperate wish for someone who would comfort him now. The whole situation was more than he could bear and obviously everyone else was just as shocked as he was. The magistrate and the doctor fled into cold professionality to deal with it, the managers were running round like panicked chicken. Unfortunately they would never start to lay eggs. The policemen seemed to be paralyzed from shock.

And Erik himself cursed his natural ability to absorb any knowledge he would ever read or be told. He had involuntarily started to observe and analyze himself and everyone around him like a psychiatrist would do. Why couldn't he just go back to the pure anger and hatred, the cold disregard for human life? Why did he have to have a feeling heart? It had all started with Christine - with the way her smile made his heard ache, the dreamy look in her blue eyes that made his knees so weak he could barely stand upright.

"Sir, one request, please," Erik addressed the magistrate formally, "My friends will worry where I am. They need someone to care for them, so if I am to be arrested, could you send a message to Gontier so he cares for them, please? And... if I may, a second request - send me to the hospital, not to prison. I... right now I... I feel so very sick."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik is in a difficult situation. He did not want anyone to be killed and yet he caused not one but two deaths because of his carelessness. In his favor it is to be considered that when he was arrested he was under shock and simply forgot about the security system after he had not even needed it in years._


	25. Overchallenged

**Education of the Heart**

 **Overchallenged**

Finally the managers were sitting in their office, both drinking brandy to calm their nerves. They discussed what they could do next and decided they no longer wanted to see what was below the theater. It would be enough to have the police remove all these traps and everything else and then they would have to restore the cellars to the state they were originally planed by Garnier.

A knock at the door startled them. It was the magistrate and the doctor - and the Phantom, all three looking shaken. It was an absurd situation - the man who had caused the horror was there with them, as shaken as they were. Both managers, who had had more than enough glasses of brandy by now, burst into laughter.

The magistrate helped himself to a brandy, since he found no fitting glass in the open cupboard in the manager's office he just took a wine glass. He looked at the doctor, who was pale but again taking notes and sketches in his notebook. "Who else?" the magistrate asked, not even considering that this brandy was not offered by the managers yet. These two men were in no state to offer anything to anyone, they were more or less lying in their seats, trying to catch their breath.

"Please," Erik said. He had taken a seat on the couch, as if this was his favorite place in the manager's office. He must have been there quite often, especially the way he reached for the bookshelf where the manager's had hidden their finest cognac behind a large opera guide about baroque operas, told everyone that this was not the first time he sat there and helped himself to a glass of the manager's finest cognac.

Not even the doctor told Erik to leave that. They had temporarily forgotten about the rules he should be obeying now. After he had drained the second glass, Erik felt strong enough to speak again. "Whatever you do - do not arrest me without giving me a chance to take down the security system. With me out of the house it is far too dangerous."

"Request granted," Clemenceau, who was pouring himself the third glass by now, answered relieved. He had feared that the prisoner would use this knowledge for further blackmail. That he did not even consider this but was not only willing to give them the information to take down his traps but eager to help was a very much appreciated surprise.

"I'd like to see him not in prison but in hospital," the doctor added, "I guess he needs help now."

"Help? Since when does a murderer need treatment for the terrible shock he suffered when he was killing someone?" Andre voiced his thoughts, he was drunk enough to forget his good manners and his fear of the man they had called "Phantom" for such a long time.

"I did not want this!" Erik nearly yelled at no one in particular, "I just wanted to be left alone! If **you** hadn't arrested me, kept me away from my opera house, this would never have happened!"

Dr. Benevole just grabbed Erik's arm. "Let's go. You need a bath and you need to calm down," he ordered.

"Can you please just sedate me?" Erik asked, "The cognac isn't strong enough to make me forget all of this!"

Now Clemenceau, a bit intoxicated himself, laughed. A prisoner on his way to the hospital for mentally ill people asking to be sedated - that was new. Usually they tried everything to avoid being given any medicine. Dr. Benevole watched Erik closely. Erik was tensed up, all his muscles painfully clenched and he was shivering as if he was cold. That man was just barely clinging to sanity, he might lose it if he would not get relief of some sort in his distress.

"Come with me. Let's see what I can do for you," Dr. Benevole offered gently. Erik followed him slowly as if every single step cost him more strength than he had right now. He just wanted to take something - anything - that would take away the horror of what had happened and the terror of what they might find if they opened the other traps. Right now he hated himself for his carelessness. He had absolutely forgotten about his security system and only thought about getting free - he had absolutely forgotten about his security system and hadn't thought someone might fall in one of the traps. No one except the rat-catcher and the firemen - who knew how to avoid the traps - should ever be there. For years nothing had happened! Years without anyone breaking into his dark domain. And now this.

* * *

Dr. Benevole kept his word and made sure Erik got a room for himself and would not have to share a room with other patients. That would do no good, for no one of them. Then he personally made sure Erik got laudanum to help him sleep and he watched carefully so Erik would not be able to take an overdose.

Dr. Benevole remembered Erik's request that he informed Gontier and so he did send a message. He had not counted on the effect his message would have. The very next morning he was summoned by a nurse telling him that "three idiots" wanted to visit one of the patients and they had a beast with them. The doctor got dressed and went from his flat in the building where he and his colleagues resided to the hospital.

At the door were Dede, Rene and Jules, Rene holding the largest cat the doctor had ever seen in his arms.

"Erik needs cuddly kitten when sad," Rene explained and nodded towards the cat. This cat was surely no kitten and everything but cuddly. It was ugly. It had only one eye and one ear and the nose looked like it had been split and healed together poorly. The tail had a kink as if it had been broken once and the rest of the body was covered with scars. The cat hissed at the doctor and he involuntarily backed away. This was one of the half-wild cats of the slums which would have to defend themselves against stray dogs and people who would eat them. And this particular cat looked like it would take on a pack of stray dogs with its green eye maliciously glowing and the dark brown fur.

" **That** is cuddly kitten?" The doctor asked. He did not want that beast in the hospital.

"Yes. Cuddly kitten. Cuddly kitten often makes more cuddly kitten," Dede explained. Cuddly Kitten hissed at the nurse who tried to prevent Rene entering with that cat. The nurse gave in, she wouldn't risk a fight with that cat.

* * *

Erik was still asleep and would not wake up when the doctor opened the door. Dede cried out and nearly hopped onto the bed, which finally made Erik open his eyes drowsily, he clearly did not know where he was. The large cat suddenly became the cuddly type and rubbed her head against Erik's, sitting at his shoulder as he sat up and curled around his neck so he looked like he was wearing a fur collar.

"Erik okay?" Dede asked worriedly.

"I'm... not sure..." Erik mumbled and tried to focus. He did not see anything clearly, everything swam before his eyes as if both eyes were giving the brain a completely different picture and the brain didn't know how to put it together.

The doctor would have loved to check his pulse but the cat eyed him mistrustful and readied her claws to protect her master and the doctor did not want to risk a wound by these claws - who knew where that gutter cat from the dumping ground had been before? Her claws were guaranteed to cause a nasty infection. Erik could barely keep his eyes open, he lay down again, curled himself up and the cat curled up in a similar position on top of him.

"He needs to sleep it off," the doctor explained to the three men. They nodded and sat down on the floor, determined to watch over their friend. "Tell me, how did you find your way to the hospital?" Dr. Benevole asked. As far as he knew mongoloid people mustn't be allowed to wander the streets alone for they would get lost.

"Sunday-visit," Dede explained. Of course. Erik had taken them with him every Sunday when he had his therapy session in the Hospital and they remembered the way - they were not as stupid as most people thought. Although he suspected that they might have been wandering all night, but they made it.

* * *

Erik woke late in the afternoon, at first he thought he had had a terrible nightmare, only when his friends explained to him that he was in hospital for he was ill he understood that it had been real. He managed to get dressed and wondered why and how his friends had come there with the cat. He got dressed and opened the door which was not even locked to his surprise. He must have been quite a sight - a man in a mask with a large cat in his arms and three mongoloid men following him. But in this hospital no one looked twice, they were not the most unusual sight there.

But they were in the part where the patients who were not dangerous lived. Patients, who were mentally ill but cooperative and easy to handle. Therefore it was not a problem for him just to walk out of the door and to Dr. Benevole's office in another part of the building.

* * *

Dr. Benevole greeted them friendly, asked them to take a seat and offered some food. Erik ignored that but his three friends asked for breakfast and a cup of warm milk for the cat. The doctor decided to give them what they wanted and ordered a meal for Erik too.

Erik ignored the food and the glass of water, he just stared at his hands in his lap.

"Erik? Do you hear me?" the doctor asked, not sure if the man was so deep in thought he had forgotten where he was or if he was deliberately ignoring them.

"I'm in such a mess," Erik sighed, "And I can't bring myself to do anything at all right now. I know I should do so many things, but it is like I was standing at the shore of the ocean and should swim through it - I know I can't do that, I know I will drown so I can't bring myself to take one step into the water."

"Why don't you take a ship?" the doctor suggested.

Erik snorted. "Not literally. It is just this... mess. I know I promised to open my flat to them and I know I have to dismantle the security system to prevent further... accidents. But how can I do this? I do not have the **time**. I need to get back to the garbage collecting enterprise, I have to work. I have to support my friends here, the widow Buquet and pursue that new idea Gontier and I had - that I become a master watchmaker and have a store in some nice quarters in a house without moisture and mould and sewage running through the streets and over the doorstep every time it's raining. But taking down my security system will take months - and I should have finished all these projects of mine by now, but I haven't even started properly yet. And I am so weary... so very weary. I just want to lie down and never get up again."

Dr. Benevole thought about how to answer to that. "Maybe you just tell them how to take down the traps you installed in the opera house," he suggested, "I'm sure they would not want you to do this work yourself."

Erik snorted. "Do you suggest I should reveal my inventions to another engineer? So he can use them? Shall I accept being cheated again and another man taking the praise for my work?"

That moment the cat overturned a pile of papers and a newspaper fell to the floor. Rene snatched it and the three men started looking at the pictures in the paper and guessing which letter could be which. They could decipher most of the letters but could not figure out the words.

Dede found a picture he liked and went to Erik to show it to him. It was the sketch of the two bodies which had been found in the cellars with the headline " _Who knows this people_?". Of course Dede did not know the words, he just saw the print of the pencil sketch the doctor had made which gave a good impression what their faces looked like when they were alive. They looked as if they were sleeping.

Erik turned away, unable to look at the newspaper.

" **At least we are together** ," Dede said softly. Erik turned to him, looking at him questioningly. "That's what they are saying. I like the picture," Dede explained, "Can I have it?" Erik looked at the picture. Dede was right, that might have been their last words before dying a horrible death of starvation and dehydration. An old couple, missed by no one. But they were together, even in death. He wondered if that was some comfort to them that they would die together. Together... Suddenly a horrible image flashed in Erik's mind, the image of himself alone, without anyone, facing certain death - knowing that no one would ever miss him.

Erik broke down sobbing. It was too much, far too much to bear. He was not aware that he was picked up by Dr. Benevole and carried to the couch, he did not know how his friends placed the cat in his arms so he could weep into her dark brown fur, and he did not know how long he was lying there, locked in that personal hell of too many horrors he had caused in his life.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _It is all far too much for Erik. His friends don't want to hurt him, they just can't read the newspaper and do not know what happened. Dede just liked the picture and the thought that it was an old couple who loved each other so very much. Of course this is far too much for Erik._


	26. Tearing Down the Walls

**Education of the Heart**

 **Taking Down the Walls**

Erik woke in the small room in the hospital because he felt a terrible thirst as if he had not had any water for days. It was day, the sun was shining through the small window. He noticed that he was wearing a nightshirt, but nothing else. Looking around he found his clothes and the mask at a chair in a corner. But no one else was there. It took a while until he understood that he was in the hospital. Better than in a prison cell, wasn't it?

He got up and looked around, but could not find a bathroom. There was a chamber-pot and a portable washbasin with cold water. Appalled by the stench of sweat on his body he decided better to wash as best as he could with what little he had. But he would not leave the room in his nightshirt and ask for a bathroom and he surely would not put on his clothes - even unwashed as they were - on his unwashed body. Right now he had nothing but some rest of dignity and he would cling to that as long as possible.

When he was dressed he tried the door. To his surprise it was not locked. He wondered if he should feel offended now for they were really careless considering he might still be dangerous. But then - it was a good sign that they did not lock him in, wasn't it? He soon found a nurse and asked politely if he could have a glass of water. The nurse stared at him in shock. "You... you are talking?" he asked as if Erik had never done that before.

"Yes, I do speak. In fact, I am fluent in several languages," Erik answered a bit annoyed.

"Get Dr. Benevole!" the nurse told one of his colleagues, "His patient number one is up again."

Erik cleared his throat and asked: "Sorry, but I am really thirsty. May I **please** have a glass of water?" When he was ignored he simply decided to enter the room with the sign "kitchen" and got what he needed himself. When he left the kitchen, he saw Dr. Benevole standing in the corridor, berating two care workers for their carelessness to let Erik stroll around alone.

"Good day, Monsieur," Erik greeted with a formal bow.

"Erik!" the doctor exclaimed, "Thank heavens you are coherent again! I was afraid you lost it completely this time!"

Erik felt extremely uncomfortable because he could not remember doing anything odd. But he remembered waking up in a nightshirt and not changing his clothes - but then, it was not the first time he woke up somewhere in some clothes he could not remember. But usually he had been drugged or drunken, not just upset. "I can't remember anything," he admitted, "Did I... do something odd?"

The doctor gave him a strange look over the upper end of his glasses. "You are in a hospital for mentally ill people. Odd behaviour is what we are used to. Come to my office, you must be very hungry and thirsty, let's talk over dinner."

"Dinner?"

"Do you know what day it is?"

Erik thought about it. Finally he shook his head. When the doctor told him the date, he gasped in shock - he had no recollection of the last five days. Five days!

When they sat in Dr. Benevole's office and ate some bread and cheese, the doctor told Erik that he had suffered a severe breakdown. At first he had sobbed until he passed out. They had a male nurse put him to bed and dress him in a nightshirt. Erik winced at that - even if it had been a male nurse he hated being stared at and now a man had seen him stark naked. Erik had not shown any signs of being awake for three days and they had to force feed him or he would have died of dehydration. They had given him water and milk with sugar to provide nourishment. At the third day Erik had tried to run away despite the fact that he wore nothing but a nightshirt and it was a very cold day in early spring. He had panicked and they had to sedate him or he would have hurt himself.

Erik stared at the plate before him. "I'm sorry," he said, "I can't remember anything of this."

"Maybe it is better like this. But you do remember the cellar of the opera house?" the doctor asked.

Erik nodded. "Unfortunately. Have they... are they..." He gestured helplessly.

"The two dead people? An old couple of beggars. A policeman recognized the drawing in the newspaper. Obviously they were looking for some dry place to sleep. They had no family, at least no family who admitted being related to them," Dr. Benevole informed him.

Erik looked aside. It was no comfort to know that these two were likely to die anyways, being old street vagrants. Suddenly he chuckled. "It is funny... really funny... When I killed willfully it never troubled me that much. But this... I didn't want it, it was an accident. An accident I caused with my carelessness not to inform you about the danger in the cellars when I was taken away. I never experienced that agonizing feeling of guilt before. What have you done to me? What? I don't want this, I do not want any more pain!"

The doctor leaned forward in his seat and put a hand on Erik's arm, Erik looked up. "That's good!" the doctor told him seriously, "You are recovering. You are developing a conscience."

"I don't want one," Erik mumbled, fighting back tears, "It was easier without."

The doctor let out a sigh. His patient was showing absolutely normal reactions to the knowledge that he had caused the death of two people. Everyone would be devastated - everyone who was not a dangerous malicious man.

"Erik, Clemenceau is giving me quite hard pressure to get you to open the rest of the cellar and give them the information how to remove your traps," the doctor said, "Are you ready for this?"

"Hmmmm? O. Right. I guess he's right. But... hmmmmm..." Erik was lost in thought and hummed a melody that just came to his mind right then. The doctor waited patiently, allowing him to think this through.

"I will need at least two month to remove everything," Erik answered, "Even if I get my three friends to help me. But I need some money - I can't go for month without food. Tell me, doctor, am I allowed to sell some of my inventions?"

"Sell them? To whom?"

"A carney," Erik answered, his lips twisting in a disgusted smile, "Someone who wants a tunnel of horror in his sideshow. The money I could get would be enough to keep me going for the two or three month I need to do the work."

* * *

Clemenceau was informed by the doctor about Erik's plans. The magistrate did not like that Erik would use his diabolical inventions for profit but he understood that Erik would need to subsist on something. So he gave his permission under the condition that he himself and the doctor would observe every step Erik took in the opera house.

Erik showed genuine relief when he was informed about the condition. He had been afraid to go back - and what he might find there. All other traps might be empty, but there was no guarantee to that. It would be easier if someone was with him if he needed help. But first he needed to see Christine, she would be worried about him for he had missed their music lesson.

* * *

Erik sneaked out of the hospital at night and went to her apartment. He opened the door with the tiny picklock he usually hid in his vest. The care workers in the hospital had not been very careful when they undressed him, they had overlooked his tools hidden in his clothing. How neglectful could these care workers be? Had they really assumed he was one of those mentally ill street vagrants who carried garbage in their pockets? Everything he had was a tool or a weapon. Even his lasso was in his pocket as if it was just some piece of rope any vagrant would carry with him for no real purpose.

He carefully closed and locked the door before he announced himself. "Christine? Are you home?"

He heard a noise from her bedroom, feet shuffling, then the door opened and Christine came in, carefully covered in a large dressing gown, her feet in white slippers. "Erik?" she asked drowsily, rubbing her eyes, "Do you know how late it is?" She was rather annoyed, that was good, better she was angry than afraid.

"I'm sorry, but I had to see you. It might be the last time for... months, maybe longer," Erik explained, speaking very fast. His voice betrayed his distress.

Christine's eyes widened. "What happened?" she asked worriedly.

Erik heaved a deep sigh and kept his distance from her. He knew his clothes were dirty and he did not want to disgust her with the smell of his unwashed clothes and barely cleaned body. "Something bad. Maybe you did read in the newspaper or heard rumors..." he started uneasily.

Christine nodded. "Two people were found dead in the cellars of the opera house," she said, "Erik, what have you done?"

"Nothing! And that was the problem. They... they were not supposed to be there, but they were and got caught in one of my traps. I was not there to free them and they... died. It was an accident, please, my Christine, believe me, it was just an accident! But now I have to take down the system or other... accidents... might happen. And the magistrate declared me arrested..." He smirked at the sheer absurdity of that statement. He was under arrest - and yet he was here with her. The security in the hospital was not worth anything.

"Arrested?" Christine sank onto her settee, staring at Erik.

"Yes," Erik breathed and sank to his knees on the carpet at her feet, "I am so very sorry, my Christine, and now everything is out of my control again. But... I am allowed to take the traps down, all of them. It will take months and I will be under strict surveillance. We... will not be able to continue our singing lessons." He looked at her piano with great longing. It would be so good to play, but he would not risk waking her maid. If he was caught now he would be imprisoned immediately and everything would be in vain. "My, Christine... can you forgive me?" he asked, desperately.

"Forgive you - what?"

"Failing you again. My Christine, I tried so hard to become the man you want me to be - but I failed again. It is... harder than I thought it would be. Much harder. I do not know if I get another chance - the magistrate might have me imprisoned and... maybe I will be forced to escape from France. Would you... maybe... if I build up a new life somewhere else, would you consider coming to me? There are other good opera houses in Europe."

Christine shook her head. She would certainly not run away with him. "O Erik, can't you try to find another way? I do not want to run away. I do not want to run away with you. And please, Erik, stop talking about a life with me. It is... I am not ready to marry. I feel... I want to pursue my career a bit longer. And then, if I was ready to marry, there is..." She stopped herself, afraid of his reaction.

"I understand," Erik nodded sadly, "The Vicomte. He's still pursuing you, isn't he? Don't you realize that he's just playing with you? He's a Vicomte! You know what aristocrats do to singers - take their virginity and throw them to the streets! You could be his whore, but never his wife."

"Raoul is not like this," Christine replied softly, "He loves me."

"As do I!" Erik exclaimed, "But he will never give you his honorable name!"

"And you have no honorable name you could give," Christine retorted angrily, then clasped her hand over her mouth, frightened by her boldness, "O Erik, I am sorry, I did not mean..."

Erik got up. "No. I understand perfectly," he snapped coldly, "You have every right to look down in disgust upon me. I'm just some madman to be locked away in an asylum, am I not?"

"Erik - you know I did not mean to hurt you. But... after all that happened... please understand that I am not ready to have any kind of relationship with you. I... still fear you."

"Fear me? My Christine fears me?" Erik asked far more threatening than he had intended, "Then I better leave now. Maybe the Seine has enough water to wash away my shame."

Christine jumped to her feet and grabbed his sleeve with both hands. "Erik, what are you talking about?" she gasped horrified, "Please don't! Don't even think of this!"

"Why not? The monster you are so afraid of would be gone for good - **rejoice** , Christine, rejoice!" he snapped, but he could not hold back his tears. With just one sentence Christine had destroyed all his hope for a little bit of happiness in the future. He had forgotten about his friends now, about the doctor who really tried to help him, about his promise to the widow Buquet and all the business plans he had developed with Gontier. In this moment all that mattered to him was the tiny hope that Christine would somehow grow to love him.

"Erik, I did not want to hurt you. You are no monster. I know what you are doing for Dede, Rene and Jules. I know what you are doing for the widow Buquet, I know that you are trying your best. I do not want you do die and certainly not in such a gruesome way. Please, Erik, promise me: Whatever you do, you will not commit suicide and you will not run away," she begged.

Erik looked at her blue eyes. These blue eyes that seemed to hold heaven itself in them. "Why do you care?" he asked.

Christine sighed and rested her forehead against his shoulder so he could only see her dark curls. "The thought of never hearing your voice again is unbearable," she said softly.

"I promise," he whispered, "I... have to go back now before they miss me. Christine, please, give me hope - just a little bit of hope so I can find the strength and courage to do what I have to do."

She gently took his hand. "Maybe I will be allowed to visit you," she answered, "I'll try, I promise."

"Thank you."

With that, he left her alone. He had much to think about and Christine had given him new hope. Hope that there might be some sort of life for him, whatever this might be. He would not run away, he would fight for that tiny hope he had now. He did not like that he would have to live in the hospital now and only leave it with the doctor and the magistrate - and most likely some armed guards - but he would have to swallow his pride and do what they told him to do. Whatever that was. For Christine. He would do it for her, for that hope that if he ever cleaned his name from crimes and shame maybe she would give him a chance. That was worth living for.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik is tearing down his mental walls he had build to prevent himself from feeling and that is maybe the most difficult task he ever had._


	27. Hard Work

**Education of the Heart**

 **Hard Work**

Going to the opera house to remove the traps Erik had installed there turned out to be more of a challenge than expected. Erik was scared of the people he might encounter there, he was afraid they would try to get their revenge on him if they caught him. He could not bring himself to go there alone, much less at daytime. It was no problem to persuade his three friends to work with him in the night, the main problem was that the managers, Clemenceau and the doctor insisted on watching him.

"Are you going to watch me for two months? That is how long it will take!" Erik grumbled, but agreed. To the doctors surprise the managers loved Erik's suggestion that he might do the work at night and in early morning when no one else would be at the opera. The less trouble the better. They had to stage performances and it would do no good to have noises from the cellar, even if Erik highly doubted anyone would hear him.

When they came to the first trap Erik decided to take down everyone held his breath. The trap was empty except for some large spiders. Erik let out a sigh of relief and the others followed. The dismantling was not easy but Erik knew exactly what to do and his three friends eagerly helped him as they always did. Clemenceau and Dr. Benevole had to admit that Erik's work was most effective and the design of the trap clever.

"How many traps do you have down here?" Clemenceau asked.

"57 life catch traps and 63 spooks," Erik answered and used a hammer to take down a fake wall.

Andre gasped in surprise. "That was no wall?" he asked, "But... in the plans..."

Erik chuckled. "In the plans there are many walls that are just gypsum and cardboard and color," he answered, "and then there are walls where none exist and passageways where solid walls are... I helped drawing the plans! I had one set of plans for the workers and one for the authorities. You, of course, have only the official plans and not the real ones."

The managers looked at each other, then excused themselves and returned to their office. They had no intention of risking their health in the dark cold cellars with this dangerous man.

The doctor considered the absolutely strange situation. There was Erik, eagerly explaining to them the macabre horror he had created for his protection. The doctor was moved by pity for this poor broken man in the mask, no matter how lightly he talked now. What terrible fear must he have endured to bring a gifted man like him to build such labyrinth full of death traps? Why would anyone feel the need of such protection? The labyrinth looked like Erik had tried to protect himself against an army.

The rat king was really an impressive mechanism. It was activated by a plate in the floor that would be activated by the weight of the intruder. Then a wall opened and electric light was lit. The light bulb was made of red tinted glass so the rat king was lit in blood red light. It was a real rat king. A rat king is a bunch of rats whose tails are tangled in a knot. Rat kings are a natural phenomenon. "I found this one here in the cellars," Erik chuckled as he pointed to the mummified rats, "It is 24 rats." On top of the rat king was a skeleton, which, if the intruder moved closer instead of running away, would be activated by a second plate in the floor. The doctor noticed with disgust that it was a real skeleton of a man of average height. He did not ask Erik how he had gotten that complete skeleton.

Erik laughed as he activated it. He stepped on the plate as if to inspect the rat king and that moment the skeleton leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. The magistrate shuddered. This would surely be enough to scare even the bravest of his men away, it was scary, even when Erik was there and explained to them how it worked.

Dede, Rene and Jules clapped. They were excited as if they were going to a fairground and get an exclusive view of the main attractions. Little did they know how dangerous and scary these things really were. Especially one trap was great fun for them for it contained a slide. To get up you needed to climb up the slide again, which was only possible when you pulled a hidden lever that released a chain to hold on to. It took all of the doctor's skills to persuade them to stop playing and go on working.

* * *

After a few days the magistrate was convinced he did not need to watch Erik personally. At first it had been scary but in the end it turned out rather boring watching the masked man carefully dismantling one trap after the other, sometimes with great difficulty for he had to crawl into tiny holes in the wall where he could not take a lamp with him because it would burn him and had to work in darkness. It would have been easier if Erik had decided just to destroy some of the things but he didn't. He had an idea what to do with it and when Clemenceau allowed him to return to the dumping grounds and the slums. Erik was not sure if he should consider this a favor. The hospital provided some luxury like warm water and indoor toilets and much better food, but then, he felt a bit more like a free man when he would not be under surveillance every moment.

Gontier accepted Erik's suggestion that he would find some fairground people who would buy the "spooks". The idea was easy - Erik called the dismantled traps and spooks "garbage" and used the normal garbage cart to transport them. In the workshop at Gontier's property he would put them together so they could be sold. Officially Gontier would sell them, but they would secretly divide the profit among them so Erik had a chance to get even more than his usual wages.

* * *

It could have been so easy if Erik had not told anyone of his idea before. The managers, who of course did not trust him even if he was not allowed to be at the opera alone but constantly watched by some policemen, soon found out that Erik and his three helpers dutifully dismantled the traps and spooks at night after the performances were over and transported the material with a garbage cart to the dumping grounds. That was no surprise, the surprise was that Gontier suddenly started selling "fairground attractions".

They immediately asked the magistrate if "the masked lunatic" had the permission to sell these things. Reluctantly the magistrate informed them that he had allowed it and reasoned that Erik's argument that he needed to earn something to survive he had allowed it.

"I think I got an idea," Firmin said, grinning widely, "Hasn't he promised to refund our damage? Now he has some money."

They waited for Erik to leave the opera house in the morning. It was not difficult to find them - there was the garbage cart and the four men were lifting large pieces of scrap-metal on the cart. To the manager's shock the four policemen who should be watching Erik were sitting a few hundred meters away in a cafe, flirting with a waitress. If that was how they were doing their duty it was really a miracle Erik had not escaped.

"Monsieur Morriere?" Andre asked uneasily. It was strange to address the Phantom by his name like any other man.

Erik, who stood at the cart, looked town to them. He tipped his hat - he now wore brown workman's clothing and a grey hat - and answered: "Good morning, Messieurs. I didn't expect you to be here that early." He tried not to show his own discomfort. The managers only showed up early when something was wrong.

"We've come to ask you how long the repair works in the cellars will take?" Firmin asked.

Erik decided to jump from the cart to talk to them face to face. He did not want to risk to draw attention from people in the streets and now used the cart to shield himself from the view of passers-by. "I'm not sure. We've worked one month and the most dangerous traps are removed. Maybe two month more, or maybe three, I am not sure," he answered, telling himself that this was no personal offense but their duty to know when the cellars would be save again.

"And... what do you do with the... the dismantled tools?" Andre asked.

Erik looked from one manager to the other suspiciously. What were they up to? "This is a garbage cart. I take them to the dumping grounds. Why?" Erik answered perfectly honestly. He could easily guess where this conversation would lead to.

Andre smiled. "We know that you are putting them together and selling them. You promised to refund the damage - if you could. Now - how much do you get for such a... thing?"

Erik clenched his fists and tried to stay calm. This was not personal, it was their job doing this, he told himself, but he didn't believe it for one moment. They just loved to annoy him. "That is not my business. I just do my job as a humble garbage collector and what Gontier asks for selling trash I do not know," Erik answered, the answer was not entirely honest and surely not what they wanted to hear. He did not want them to know that he had more money at his disposal than anyone assumed.

"Maybe we should rephrase our question," Andre said carefully, "If you do not tell us what we want to know we ask Gontier. And he will not be pleased if we sue him for assisting you in a bankruptcy fraud, wouldn't he?"

" **What?** " Erik could not believe what he had just heard. Were they actually trying to blackmail **him** now?

"I think you understood very well. You said you were broke and could not pay your dept. If you try to hide anything valuable or money from the creditors - in this case the opera house - it is fraud. And I do not think the magistrate would take it lightly to hear about that," Firmin lectured, happy that for once they had the upper hand.

"We ready," Rene announced. They had finished loading the cart.

Erik could not think clearly, he did not even know what he was feeling right now. Anger, fear, humiliation, shame and hate mixed to some indefinable emotion that made it impossible to think clearly. He needed to buy time for he could only come up with a clever idea if he was alone with his thoughts. The mere presence of other people caused so much stress he was not his normal self. He felt insecure in the streets when he did not know how many people were there and how many could come any time. It was just too much for him.

"Can we... discuss this somewhere else?" he asked carefully. Time, he needed time to think.

"Of course," Andre agreed, "Our office?"

"I need to bring the cart to the dumping grounds, then we can talk," Erik answered.

On their way to the garbage collection enterprise Dede asked: "Why not tell uncle Gontier? Uncle Gontier always helpful."

Erik sighed: "Dede, this is different. This is not about how to cook dinner or buy new trousers. This is serious."

"More serious than food?" Rene asked.

Erik chuckled quietly. "Sometimes I think I am the idiot. No, you are right, food and clean water is more important than my problem."

"Then ask him!" Jules stated.

Erik shook his head. There was no way to ask Gontier for help. If that man knew about the legal problems he faced he would simply send him away and he would have nothing at all now. He had to persuade the managers to accept that he had other obligations that were more pressing now, even if he risked trouble with Gontier and the magistrate. Bankruptcy fraud - Erik shook his head. Of course, he could not - and never had any intention to even try - refund the managers for every damage they thought he had caused. It was hard enough to help the Buquet family but at least he knew that the children were growing up and in some years he would be rid of them. It was something he could accept but he would not deny himself anything for the benefit of the managers! He had agreed to give them something, yes, and he would do so. He had a plan, but right now he did not need the managers to cause more trouble.

* * *

Saying nothing would have been easy - had not the managers, anticipating that he would try to cheat them, already contacted Gontier. Gontier was already waiting for Erik when he came to the building with the heavily load on the cart.

"Erik, I got some quite unpleasant news from the opera house," he said a bit worried, "What happened?"

"Nothing! Nothing happened! I can deal with it!" Erik snapped aggressively, despite the fact that he had no idea how he could deal with anything right now.

"Cannot," Dede corrected.

"Shut up, you stupid idiot!" Erik yelled and slapped the man. Dede's eyes went wide and he started crying like a child. Erik stared at him helplessly. "Dede... I'm sorry. I didn't... did I hurt you?" Dede shook his head but rubbed his reddened cheek. Erik gently placed his hands on the smaller man's shoulders and made him look him in the eyes. "Dede, I am really sorry. I know you just want the best for me, but... you do not understand the situation I am in. So please, just stay out of this!"

"Erik, I think **you** don't understand," Gontier interrupted softly, "I asked my lawyer and he told me that legally you are bound to refund them for every damage you caused. And I am bound not to give the money to you but your share to them, except some small amount I can give you for your personal needs. You mustn't starve, but the bread-line is luxury then, do you understand?"

"No," Erik replied dumbstruck, "I understand nothing. How can they do this? I... I can't... I don't..." He turned round and ran. This time he did not have the strength to suppress the urge to run. It was too much for him to handle now and he just needed to run away. Run and not think of where to or what he would do in the future. Just run and think of nothing.

Gontier turned to his nephew: "Do you think he might come back?"

"Of course!" Dede exclaimed.

"Erik will be back!" Rene added, "Can't go without us and girl-singer!"

"And cuddly kitten," Jules reminded them, "And dancer and dancer-mother and doctor and Thunder and uncle Gontier."

Gontier laughed. He wished he had their optimism and trust. The mere thought of Erik running from the police with all these people - not to forget the giant horse and the cat - was too funny, but he had seen far too many men run away when they were on parole. Only very few stayed and managed to build up a new life. He sighted. Gontier had grown to like Erik and his creativity, it was so very refreshing to have someone to talk to on a higher intellectual level. It would be nice to have a business partner like him, even if he would have to hide the masked man from customers and authorities all the time for Erik's bad temper would easily offend everyone.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik tried to play by the rules and told the doctor and the magistrate of his plans - and that does not turn out to be a good idea. What now?_

 _I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up, but I try to post it this week._


	28. Liquid Courage

**Education of the Heart**

 **Liquid Courage**

Gontier did not report Erik for running away. But when Erik did not show up for work for a few days he had to admit that he had no idea where the man was. The policemen reported to Clemenceau who immediately contacted Dr. Benevole.

"The fat's in the fire," the magistrate told the doctor, "Our masked friend ran away. He could be anywhere and he has two days ahead of us. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"

The doctor shook his head. He did not understand why Erik would run away now, but he suggested to ask the three mongoloid men, they usually knew most about Erik.

"Great," Clemenceau moaned, "Rely on them as witnesses. Consider this experiment a **failure** and now we have a **dangerous madman at large**."

Dr. Benevole did talk to Erik's three friends and to Gontier and - even if all four had told the magistrate that they knew nothing - admitted now that Erik had left after a quarrel with the managers. Gontier filled in the information the three men did not know or understand and Dr. Benevole felt like the puzzle was solved. As far as he knew from Erik the man had never known any other solution when he was in a situation he could not solve alone than running away.

Dr. Benevole went through his notes and found his record of Erik's biography as Erik himself had told him. There have been very few people who really helped him, usually he had to rely on himself. And his experience had taught him to mistrust everyone and that the law was corrupt and only in favor of the rich and powerful. Maybe it was better that Erik had run away instead of killing the managers, which would be his obvious solution a few years ago. The doctor shuddered as he remembered that Erik had told him that he had been creating deadly accidents for the Shah in Persia. Such an accident could easily happen to the managers.

The doctor decided to talk to the managers. They were not surprised that Erik had fled - they expected him to return to his criminal ways and were only surprised how long he had managed to play by the rules.

"Maybe you should not have confronted him alone," the doctor advised, "He is mentally unstable, as you might now, and if he suffers a **relapse**..." The doctor spread his hands in a meaningful gesture. The managers shuddered, thinking of the chandelier crash.

"Are we in danger now?" Andre asked. He paled as he realized that the Phantom could be back - and the labyrinth was not cleared of his traps.

The doctor shrugged. "I can't answer that, I do not know. I am a doctor, not a clairvoyant."

* * *

One month after Erik disappeared, he came back. It was in the night and he simply broke into the flat of Dr. Benevole to wake the doctor.

The doctor woke because a piece of cloth was pressed against his mouth and he felt a blade at his throat - exactly where the jugular vein was. He did not dare move, fearing for his life, his thoughts raced and he could only hope that he would survive this encounter.

"Shhht. I'm going to release you. Do not scream," Erik said in a seemingly calm voice. The doctor nodded and Erik really backed away to lit the gaslight. Now Dr. Benevole could see him clearly. Erik was in his brown and grey workman's clothes and shoes, a brown cap on his head and the brown leather mask. His clothing was crumpled and dirty as if he had slept somewhere in the woods. When the doctor got up and faced Erik he noticed that the man's breath smelled of wine.

Erik calmly put the knife away, placing it on the doctor's nighttable. "I want to come back," he said.

"Are you drunk?" the doctor asked.

Erik chuckled. "I had to give myself liquid courage," he admitted, "or I would never have made it here." His speech was slurred and he was slightly swaying on his feet. The doctor guessed that he might have had a bottle of wine before he came.

"You know that Clemenceau considers this experiment a failure and wants you in prison?" the doctor asked and put on his dressing gown.

Erik slumped in one chair and rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. "I thought so. That's why I am here - I want to come back as if nothing had happened. Come on, doctor, I just ran away for a few days. I did not commit any crime... well, except stealing some bread, eggs and a bottle of wine." He smiled awkwardly. "Sorry. I forgot that even that is a crime. But maybe... you just forget I told you?"

"And you really think this might be possible? That you just come back and we all pretend nothing ever happened?"

Erik shook his head. "I'm fooling myself again. For the likes of me there is no mercy, no compassion, no hope, isn't it?"

The doctor moved another chair to sit close to Erik. "Tell me," he started, "why did you run away? And why do you come back now?"

Erik sighed and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "I do not know. The managers, they... ruin everything. They use the law against me now and... they can ruin me, you know? I'd lose everything and my downfall will ruin the Buquet family again, affect Dede, Rene and Jules and even Gontier who has treated me with respect despite everything. I was so... I do not know... I just knew that I had to run or something terrible would happen." Erik did not explain what this terrible something would be or who would suffer from it. He did not know himself.

"What made you change your mind?" the doctor asked.

"My promise to Christine," Erik answered sadly, "I promised her that I would try not to run away. And I... I made it to Le Havre, wandering at night, hiding during the day. Le Havre - that is about 200 kilometers. I wanted to ask for a job on a ship and disappear. But when I stood at the port, smelled the sea, I knew that I couldn't do it. As much as I would love to be free - I would cause even more harm. Christine... she would not understand. She would think I left her because I didn't love her. The widow Buquet would not be able to feed her children without me. I know that Gontier complained that another shopkeeper might be better, and even with her income she could barely feed her children but never pay the school fees. My absence must have caused terrible problems for her until now, I assume. Then there are my three... friends." Erik spoke the word "friends" as if he had realized that they were his friends only now. "I am the only one who teaches them. They love me, they look up to me - I am ashamed to disappoint them. And of course there is the opera house. If I run away now, other... accidents might happen. I don't want that. So I came back, hoping I could continue where I left."

Dr. Benevole thought about that. He took a pencil and some paper and took notes. Only when he was done writing he sat back in his chair and looked at his patient again. Erik was sitting there like a schoolboy waiting for his teacher to give him good advise. "That won't be easy," Dr. Benevole stated matter of factly, "The magistrate considers this experiment a failure."

"But you could **persuade** him," Erik asked hopefully, "I am willing to make a deal - I surrender to him, if he gives me the chance to go on where I left."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because I could go mad without proper treatment and do something we all would regret later," Erik stated with a cruel smile.

"Erik! This is blackmail!" the doctor exclaimed reproachful.

"Blackmail is it?" Erik asked with a sweet innocence that could only be faked, "I call it survival instinct."

"No. I won't help you to blackmail the authorities," Dr. Benevole said, "Even if I know fully well that you could kill me right here and now. No. You have to make a better offer."

"Better? Better than me surrender to him? You ask too much, my good doctor, far too much," Erik refused angrily.

"Maybe **you** ask to much, my dear patient," the doctor replied in the very same threatening tone Erik had just used, "You have been lucky so far and given many chances and all the time you break rules and get away with it. What did you expect? That he would overlook your flight? You knew this would happen if you tried to run."

Erik laughed. In his inebriated state the doctors threatening tone was only conceived as highly amusing. "Okay, you tell me what to do," he asked, again sounding rather like a sulking schoolboy who had just been reprimanded by his teacher for doing a very sloppy homework.

The doctor sighed and carefully considered his answer. "If you do not only surrender but hand over all money you have to the magistrate so **he** can decide which of your victims gets how much money - that would be something."

Erik considered this for a moment. "Yes... thank you, doctor, that is the perfect answer to the problem. I have to admit that your criminal intellect is far higher developed than mine. While I would have tried crude blackmail your strategy is far better."

"I beg your pardon?" Dr. Benevole did not understand anything.

"Yes, that is really good. **You** tell the magistrate that I had only left to get the money the managers demanded and it had all been a **misunderstanding**. I never had any intention to run, I was just digging up my hidden treasure," Erik grinned and spread his arms, "And of course I show up in Clemenceaus office with my pockets full of money I would give him - and then he can discuss with my so-called 'victims' who gets how much." Erik made a gesture as if dusting off his hands. " **Perfect**. Thank you."

"I did **not** agree to that!" the doctor replied angrily, "Erik, you have to take responsibility for what you do and not just run or hide or do something stupid and then try to sweep it under the mat."

Erik took a deep breath and burped. "Sorry. Too much wine. I guess you are right, but you do not make much sense to me right now. To simplify it for my drunken brain - you ask the magistrate if I can come back. Tomorrow. And... hmmm... do not worry, I'll find a way to contact you again right after your talk with Clemenceau."

Now the doctor really had reason to be worried. Erik got up and asked politely if he could use the toilet in the doctor's flat. Dr. Benevole noticed that his visitor paled visibly and looked like he might be sick, so of course he allowed it and showed Erik to the modern indoor toilet the flats for the medical staff had.

It took some time before Erik came back, looking very tired, but more sober than before. "I apologize," Erik said softly, "I better go now. Please, Dr. Benevole, help me with this. I really do want to come back. I am willing to do anything in my power to atone for my crimes - but please understand that I think the welfare for the Buquet family is more important than the refund to the opera house. I hope you agree that I have to prioritize and the lives of four children and a woman are much more important than money in the bank account of the opera."

"I will ask him, but I can't promise anything," the doctor said.

"That's all I need to know. Goodnight." Erik left the doctors flat like he had entered it - noiseless and hidden in shadows and darkness. He opened the door with his picklock as swiftly as if he had a key, he even locked it again. The doctor made a mental note to request a new door. Something with bolts on the inside.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik wants to come back, which is not easy - he should not have tried to run away._

 _No chapter tomorrow but maybe end of the week, hopefully._


	29. Back to the Light

**Education of the Heart**

 **Back to the Light**

Dr. Benevole went to see the magistrate the next morning and gave him a detailed report what had happened in the previous night.

"Why didn't you even try to hold him back?" Clemenceau asked angrily, "Surely in his drunken state you could have locked him in your toilet and called for help?"

The doctor had to admit that he had not even thought about this possibility. "I'm a doctor, my first priority is the health of my patients," he replied carefully, "I'm no policeman."

Clemenceau accepted this statement. "Allright. He wants to come back. I can't promise anything. You can tell him that my answer is: **Unconditional surrender**. When he is in custody, my colleagues and I will decide if he gets one last chance. He has to accept, once and for all, that he is not the one who makes any rules. He has to obey, whether he likes it or not. If he accepts unconditional surrender and hands over everything he owns and is willing to fully cooperate with us, then he might have a tiny hope for mercy."

"He won't agree to that," the doctor answered, "Please understand what this man has been through in his life - he can't surrender unconditionally to you."

"I know he suffers from claustrophobia," Clemenceau replied, "And you have my word I won't be cruel. But I can't risk him running again."

"He came back," the doctor spoke in Erik's favor, "He made it to the port in Le Havre and planned to get himself a job on one of the ships - he could have left Europe by now but came back. Surely this has to be considered?"

"Of course," Clemenceau answered, "And I will take that into account. But without an unconditional surrender he will be hunted down. He can't take on the Republic of France."

Dr. Benevole considered this. His opinion was that Erik surely would challenge everyone, and if he had to challenge the Republic itself, he would certainly do so, but he could not tell that to Clemenceau. Instead he said: "Are you sure this is the best idea?"

"We can't have a criminal blackmail the Republic. Think of what others would do if this spreads... no. Impossible. Unconditional surrender and then it is our decision," Clemenceau told him, "And that is my final word in this."

* * *

When the doctor returned to his office, there was a letter on his table in Erik's handwriting.

" _to Dr. Thomas Baron de Benevole_ ," it read, " _My dear doctor, I am deeply sorry for my awful behavior last night. Please accept my sincere apology. Now, as to Clemenceau's answer: Just place a newspaper advertisement in "le Figaro". It should start with the letters O.G. and then Clemenceaus answer in as few syllables as absolutely necessary. That will be enough. Thank you very much for your help._ " Instead of a signature there was a treble clef, but it was clearly Erik's handwriting in the letter.

The letter had been send by post, but the doctor assumed Erik had not risked going to a post office but asked some boy to do it for him, promising a few coins. There were always children playing in the streets and if someone asked them to bring a letter to the next post office and would pay them for this it was easy to find a boy willing to run a few errors to earn a few coins.

With a sigh the doctor went to the office of "Le Figaro". He asked them to place the advertisement: "OG: unconditional surrender" in the next day's newspaper. After that all he could do was waiting.

Clemenceau was busy in the meantime. He had policemen - dressed in normal everyday clothes so they would not be recognized as policemen - watch the opera house, discreetly guard the managers, Christine Daae, the Girys and even the garbage collection enterprise. Erik must be hiding somewhere and so he was sure Erik would eventually show up. Everyone simply had to show up sometimes - and his men would be there to arrest the masked man. A man with such a severe deformity or a mask would be easy to recognize for he could not simply be mistaken or disappear in the crowds. But even as he had policemen guard Dr. Benevole and the hospital, Erik did not show up.

Dr. Benevole got another letter the same day the advertisement had been printed in the newspaper. It read:  
" _Dear Dr. Benevole,_  
 _I am deeply sorry, but unconditional surrender is nothing I can do. Maybe you understand that I cannot afford to try my luck and trust Clemenceau's mercy - I have only one life. I have no intention to go back to my old ways, but I can only surrender if he promises that I can continue where I left. Of course I am willing to make concessions, I understand the magistrate needs to pretend to be a merciless man to scare the criminal community, but this does not mean he cannot - secretly - make a compromise with me._  
 _My answer to him is: I am willing to give him a good publicity in the press, he can arrest me and I will give him every last Centime I own and leave it to his wisdom how to compensate the so-called "victims", if he allows me to continue where I left - I am even willing to allow myself to be imprisoned for some time, but not more than a week.  
You know how to contact me."_

Dr. Benevole showed the letter to Clemenceau. Clemenceau swore rather vulgarly. "What does this madman think he is? That he can blackmail the Republic of France? If he wants **war** , he can have it. Tell him the longer he waits until he surrenders the less mercy he can hope for. If he does not want to end his life in public execution he has two days to surrender unconditionally."

Erik's answer to the next advertisement that read "OG: unconditional surrender in two days or Madame G." was to have a parcel delivered to Clemenceau's office. It was a German book by Johann Wolfgang Goethe and a music score by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Clemenceau called Dr. Benevole and together they studied the book and the score, then asked for someone who spoke German and could translate it.

There was a secretary whose mother had been German and he looked at the book and the score and turned bright red. "I can't possibly translate that," he stammered, "It... no!"

"Why? What is it? It is really important, so please do translate!" Clemenceau ordered worriedly.

"The book is the German stage play by Goethe, the 'Goetz von Berlichingen' and the score is a composition by Mozart, the lyrics are... rather vulgar. It translates 'lick me in the arse'," the secretary answered, blushing with shame.

"What is the Goetz play about?" Dr. Benevole asked.

The secretary blushed again. "It is... about a robber knight who... is asked to surrender unconditionally to the king's forces, but he tells them to... um... kiss his back for he won't surrender. But he is captured and dies in prison in the end."

When the doctor and the magistrate were alone in the magistrate's office they discussed what Erik might be telling them with these books. "Maybe he just wants to show off how educated he is," the doctor suggested.

"As if," the magistrate snorted in contempt, "Only because Goethe and Mozart used very vulgar language does not make this madman an aesthete. We have to go to the opera to make sure he's not up to something bad."

* * *

The managers were not at all surprised to see the magistrate and the doctor.

"It seems our Phantom fellow is back," Firmin said and showed them a blueprint of the opera's cellars. There were red lines drawn and it read: " _do not cross the red line - danger_!" The managers were rather calm and seemed to be a bit amused.

Andre handed them another letter.

" _My dear managers,_  
 _unfortunately the current circumstances, which aren't my fault, force me to take refuge in my opera house again. I assure you I do not intend to harm anyone, so please take the time to look at the blueprint. I marked the dangerous area in red.  
As to my salary - I do not ask for 20.000 Franc or anything like that. No. Right now I will be contend with a bit of food from the buffet and some paper and pencils. As long as you do not try to remove me from my shelter I won't harm anyone. As for your compensation: I am still willing to make amends for what I have done. Right now I started with this:" _A list of smaller repair works which had to be done followed.

"Instead of damaging things he's repairing things now," Andre chuckled, "I do not know what you did to him but it somehow worked."

Clemenceau studied the list. "He did some repair work at the roof? Improvement of the set for "Le Prophete"?"

"Yes, he did some repairs to the stage decoration," Andre confirmed, "I wish he had been so friendly from the first day we arrived. Actually right now he's not threatening anyone but a rather helpful ghost."

"Every morning we find something missing, like paper, ink, a blanket, candles, food from the buffet - but in return we find he had done some repair work or finished some decoration the stagehand hadn't finished the previous day. It is almost funny right now," Firmin confirmed, "He even repaired the sewer pipe from the ladies toilet."

Clemenceau and Dr. Benevole burst into laughter. It was too funny. The Opera Ghost repairing the toilets.

"I guess my therapy experiment was not a complete failure," Dr. Benevole gasped between his laughing fits, "He's back to playing ghost - but he's a rather helpful ghost right now and not a threatening one."

"A child," Clemenceau sighed, shaking his head, "He's a child. He might be a genius in intellect but his behavior is that of a child."

"Is it still unconditional surrender you ask of him?" Dr. Benevole asked.

Clemenceau nodded. "Like it or not - yes. But I might reconsider that the experiment has been a complete failure and he has to be sentenced to death. If he surrenders, he can hope for mercy. Now - I want to see the cellars!"

They went to the cellars, accompanied by heavily armed policemen. Exactly where Erik had marked the area with red lines in the blueprints they found red marks on the floor and the walls and even a wooden barrier aid with a warning sign, reading: "DANGER - no entry".

"He put up a warning sign!" Clemenceau laughed.

"A child," Dr. Benevole answered softly, shaking his head with a smile, "He's just a frightened boy in the body of a grown man. He needs help, not a prison cell, can't you see that?"

* * *

When Clemenceau and Dr. Benevole were back at the magistrate's office they further discussed how to proceed. Dr. Benevole thought it wouldn't hurt anyone to allow Erik to continue where he had left, that would be much better than having him at large - especially because they could not know how long Erik would be in good humor and play the helpful ghost and when he would relapse to threatening and hurting people in his rage. Clemenceau still thought he could not give Erik that much power - it would do no good to bargain with criminals. Of course, if he surrendered, then he could beg for mercy, but he could not demand a guarantee for a certain verdict.

The secretary announced that a woman wanted to talk to Clemenceau.

It was Madame Buquet. She wore a grey dress and brown shoes and a woolen cap.

"Monsieur Clemenceau, I am here on Monsieur Morriere's behalf," she said and the magistrate offered her a seat and tea. She reached into her pocket and took out a golden bracelet with diamonds and ruby which she placed on the table along with a letter. "He did send me this by post."

Clemenceau took the letter and read:  
" _Dear Madame,_  
 _please forgive me for the trouble I caused. I'm sorry your children missed a month in school, but they are clever and I am sure they will catch up with their schoolmates. Circumstances that I cannot control force me to temporarily go into hiding. I send you this bracelet as a token compensation and promise to care for you and your children in the future. It is worth more than 10.000 Franc, don't let anyone tell you different. I'm sure you will use the money wisely, it should be enough to sustain your family until I am able to send you more money._  
 _Your obedient servant_  
 _Erik Morriere_ "

"He did sign with his name," Dr. Benevole, who had looked over the magistrate's shoulder, noticed. The handwriting was Erik's, but it looked like he had tried hard to do calligraphy and given much thought to the wording.

"I am here to ask for mercy for Monsieur Morriere," Madame Buquet said, her hands folded in her lap, "I am here as a mother who has no one else who cares for her children. With one crippled hand I can never earn enough to feed my children, he is the only one in the world who does really help me. If it were just me, I'd gladly give my life to see that murderer pay for his crimes with his life, but as a mother I have to consider my children's needs first. My children need a better school and a place to live where the walls are not covered with mould and the sewage does not run over the threshold every time it rains only a little bit. And as children from the slums they won't find an apprentice position in any respectable business. Monsieur Gontier and Monsieur Morriere plan to build up a new business in a better area - with me as shopkeeper. My children could attend to a normal school, not the one in the slums, and with a graduation from that other school they might find jobs. I beg you, Monsieur Clemenceau, not for myself, not for Monsieur Morriere, but for my children - put mercy before justice."

Clemenceau turned to Dr. Benevole. "Tell your masked friend that he can come back to continue where he left - but he has to surrender to me and I will lead him away in chains for everyone to see. This is the price he has to pay for his defiance."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _h+t+t+p+s+:+/+/+en+.+wikipedia+.+o+r+g+/+wiki+/G%C3%B6tz_von_Berlichingen_(Goethe)_

 _h+t+t+p+s+:+/+/+en+.+wikipedia+.+o+r+g+/+wiki+/Leck_mich_im_Arsch_

 _Every German speaking person knows what it means to quote Goetz (von Berlichingen) ;-) So Erik's message to the magistrate is quite clear. ;-)_


	30. A Price to Pay

**Education of the Heart**

 **A Price to Pay**

Erik was surprised to find another message for "OG" in the newspaper. "Surrender in public and be spared." What was that now? A trick?

He decided to ask directly. He wrote a letter to Clemenceau, asking him to attend to the opera the next day and buy box five which could be bought now. The magistrate accepted and asked the managers if he could have box five for the evening, of course they agreed and gave the man who already had box five for that performance another box plus free tickets for another opera to thank him for his cooperation.

So Clemenceau - dressed in a black tailcoat - sat in box five and waited for the Phantom to appear. The first act of Robert le Diable was almost over when he heard Erik's voice as if the man was sitting in the empty chair next to him.

"Good evening, Monsieur. Piangi as Robert - the man really needs to lose some weight! If that is Robert - how will he fight in a tournament? Sit on the opponent and squash him with his fat back?"

"I'm not here for the opera, I'm here to arrest you," the magistrate said, feeling odd for he had no idea where Erik might be hiding.

A low chuckle. "Of course. I wouldn't be here if I were not that curious how you plan to arrest me. Public surrender and be spared. What am I to think about that now?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Clemenceau answered annoyed, "You surrender in public and allow yourself to be led away in chains. Then you will be allowed to continue where you left your... therapy."

"Why the public humiliation?" Erik asked, "Hasn't the good doctor told you what I've been through and why I can't accept that? I'm a freak of nature - do you know what it is like to be on display? Only a very cruel man would torture me like that."

"Cruel? No, Monsieur. You can't hold up the police to ridicule and think you get away with it. I have to make an example of you as warning for other criminals. So, if you surrender and be led away in chains, you have my word that you will be allowed to continue where you left in that therapy," Clemenceau promised.

Erik thought about that. "What made you change your mind?" he suddenly asked.

"Madame Buquet. She begged for mercy for you," Clemenceau answered.

"Madame Buquet?" Erik was silent for some time. A rather long time, in fact, the entire second act of Robert le Diable. He had much to think about now and it was a hard decision to make. He was torn between his fear of being chained and paraded in chains for everyone to see and his wish to go back and try to build up a new life. A life he could offer Christine to share with him for she had been very clear about her reluctance to share his life as a wanted criminal. That Madame Buquet had spoken in his favor was a surprise, but a good one. If even that woman, who had every right to hate him, was able to forgive him and help him, then everything was possible with Christine.

"Allright," Erik answered, "You get your show. But I am the one who direct it."

Clemenceau jumped. He had not thought Erik was still there. "What do you mean, **show**?" he asked.

"If I am to surrender to you in public for everyone to gawk at, I will not slink back like a dog with its tail between its legs. Even a freak has his pride. You want a show? You get one. Now listen carefully. You will have the police in the grand foyer, guarding all doors. And you will have a carriage waiting for us and policemen on horses, not to watch me but to **protect me** from the mob. But of course you can invite journalists to watch to create publicity for you," Erik demanded and Clemenceau winced. He had wanted this to teach Erik a lesson in humility and now Erik was back to controlling everything in a really weird way. "And I want a letter from you that you promise I can continue where I left," Erik added as an afterthought.

"Only if you hand over your hidden treasure so I can give it to your victims," Clemenceau demanded, "I will deal with the managers and persuade them to accept what they get and everything you earn from now on you can give to the widow Buquet if you like." Now it was Erik's turn to wince. He had hoped that he could just hand over his savings and that would be all compensation ever asked from him. That he could really start anew without any debts from his past to haunt him.

He took his time to consider this. Finally he sighed: "I do agree, if you protect me from being unmasked. No one shall see my face. But you will get your show for the newspapers with me on my knees weeping with shame and crushed by the weight of my guilt, you can chain me up an lead me away. Good triumphs over evil, the bad guy gets his punishment and so on and so forth - curtain falls, audience goes home and another opera can be performed the next day." Erik's voice changed from resigned to excited, in the end he seemed to be eager to be arrested. How could someone go from deep depression to thrill of anticipation in a few seconds while speaking? Had Erik developed that idea just then and there?

"I really ought to write an opera," Erik chuckled, "Did you ever read 'Les Miserables', Monsieur Clemenceau? A very good book for long and lonely evenings. Yes, I could make an opera about that... don't you think I would make a really good Jean Valjean?"

"Certainly not. That man is a philantropist while you are just a showman. You so much love a good show, don't you? If you were to be beheaded you surely would make a show of it!" the magistrate spat.

"Of course," Erik chuckled, unable to contain his mirth, "It would be the show of my life. **Literally**."

The magistrate sighed and rolled his eyes. This Erik was mad, that much was obvious, and being alone in the darkness of the cellars did not improve his mental health. The magistrate had every reason to believe Erik would soon be as criminally insane as he had been before the treatment started. Clemenceau debated with himself if he could risk that - Erik surely would be arrested sometimes but how many lives would he take until then? There was not much choice for the magistrate. "You have your agreement," he said, "And where to shall I send my letter?"

"Just give it to Dr. Benevole," Erik ordered, "Now, if you excuse me - I have to prepare for the show. It will be in two weeks, exactly at midnight."

"Midnight?"

"I am fond of decorum. A ghost should be driven away at Good Friday at midnight, don't you think?" Erik's laughter made Clemenceau shudder. He could only hope Erik would stay true to his word.


	31. Defeat or Victory?

**Education of the Heart**

 **Defeat or Victory?**

Christine was in her dressing room. She knew that there were policemen dressed in private clothes watching her. Clemenceau had informed her that Erik had fled and was at large now and if he should try to contact her, policemen would be there to guard her and arrest him. The young singer stared at the mirror in her dressing room with mixed feelings. Would Erik be there or had he already left France? If he had - why did this make her sad? It would give them both a chance to start a new life, she would be free to marry Raoul and Erik would have the chance to build up a completely new life and maybe find a woman who really loved him. So why did the thought of never seeing him again and never knowing about his fate make her sad?

"Christine?" she heard Erik's soft voice.

"Erik?" she asked.

"May I come in?" he asked almost shyly.

"Yes, yes, do come in!" she answered far too eagerly. She could only hope he would not think ill of her now and jump to conclusions.

Erik entered through the mirror and gestured for her to be silent. Then he opened the mirror-door for her to lead her into the dark corridor, but he did not force her or anything, he just opened the door and gestured for her to use it with an elegant bow.

"There are two policemen waiting before my door," Christine whispered.

"I know. That's why I want to talk to you in the passageway," Erik answered in a low voice so she could barely understand, "Don't worry, you can leave whenever you want."

Christine took a deep breath and studied him. Erik wore a black tuxedo, white shirt, white necktie and a back cape. White mask, black wig and hat. Christine wondered if this was what he considered his working clothes when he was playing the Phantom. Could she trust him now? He had lied to her before.

"Please," he whispered and bowed even deeper, there was so much pain and despair in his voice, she could not resist and followed him. He closed the mirror-door behind them and Christine saw a oil lantern on the floor, providing light for them.

"Are you sure they can't hear us?" she asked.

Erik closed something that looked like window shutters, then smiled at her: "Absolutely, unless you scream. They would hear a scream, you know."

"The magistrate has every policeman in Paris searching for you," Christine told him.

Erik chuckled. "I know. But they won't find me here, unless I allow them to do so. Please believe me, I did not come back to terrorize the opera again, I just needed a place where I could rest without fear. And now..." he stopped briefly and ran a hand over his face "...I have to make a very difficult decision."

Christine looked at him with her eyes wide, but said nothing. When Erik realized she would not ask, he went on: "You said that I do not have an honorable name to give. You are right and I understand that you don't want the name of a wanted criminal. But if I could... maybe... possibly... clear my record, would you consider giving me a chance? I don't ask you to become my wife now, I just... maybe..." He stuttered and finally gave up trying, just looked at her pleadingly.

"A chance. A chance to do what?" Christine asked, but she thought she already knew what he wanted. Her love. He wanted her to love him, to become his wife.

He shook his head and stared at his feet, the wide-brimmed hat concealing his face now. "To... a chance... to... maybe..." he gestured helplessly and cleared his throat, before he went on: "I love you, Christine. I know my love is unwelcome and unwanted by you, I understand that, but... I can't help myself. Please... Just... I just want a chance to win your love. You do not have to promise anything, all I ask is a fair chance and that only when I... am worthy to... to court you."

She could not help pity him that moment. He was so child-like now, even innocent, and all he asked for was a chance to win her heart. But - could she do that to Raoul? She loved Raoul, very much so, it felt like betrayal to give Erik any chance at all. "O Erik. Can't we just be friends?" she asked with a sigh.

"Friends?" Erik's head jerked up and in his eyes was a hard and cold anger as he clenched his fists for a moment, trying to control the anger he felt, "Friends like you and the Vicomte? Like a mistress and her gallant? **Friends**!" He almost spat the word 'friends' in disgust.

"No Erik, friends like **real** friends," she answered, "Friends who can have fun together, go for a walk together, dine together and comfort each other if comfort is needed. Friends talk and listen to each other, confide in each other, help each other. This kind of friends. Do you understand what I am talking about?"

Erik's gaze softened. "A rather innocent and childlike definition of what friends could be," he whispered, "If that is truly your wish, then yes, I would like to be your friend." He carefully edged closer but did not dare touch her. She could barely hear his whisper: "Maybe a friendship can become something more?" Christine decided to pretend not to have heard. Erik turned away and opened the mirror again to allow her to leave.

"I will have to allow them to arrest me," he said, "But if they are honorable men I will soon be free again - and I will not give up until you consider me worthy to be your **friend**." He tasted the word friend. It tasted good. Sweet. Not as sweet as he had hoped it might, but it was so innocent. Innocent and sweet. He liked the taste.

* * *

Good Friday came far too soon for Erik's taste while for Clemenceau the waiting seemed to be endless.

Everyone at the opera was informed that they should stay away from the opera house at Good Friday, especially after sundown, and no explanation given. That was enough to ensure a large crowd before the main entrance at about 10 p.m. and even more people an hour later. In the crowd Clemenceau could easily see some journalists. He sighed heavily as he noticed that most of the employees of the opera were there. Singers, musicians, dancers, stagehands, helpers, workers, secretaries, bookkeepers, cleaning workers and, of course, the managers, although they stood aside as if they were not really there. La Carlotta in a carriage, just happening to drive by. She did stay in her carriage like a queen regent.

The magistrate couldn't help grinning. The Phantom wanted to give them a show - and here was the audience. He hated the thought that the police had not been able to track the masked man down but that man was putting the police to shame by surrendering on his conditions rather than on the ones made by the authorities. But Clemenceau was determined to see him lead away in chains for everyone to see, so in the end it would be the deformed creature who suffered the humiliation of this affair. Clemenceau was not a cruel man and certainly not a merciless one, but he hated having to follow the terms set by a criminal and felt the need to show that man who was in charge here. A magistrate is only a man after all.

They had all doors barred and guarded, in the Grand Foyer were only policemen and the magistrate, the crowds were pushed back by even more policemen and they had to clear a path for the dark carriage that would take them to the palace of justice. So many men for just one criminal - or to protect this one criminal from the mob that was already waiting for him.

Exactly at midnight an orange light flashed and Erik appeared mysteriously out of the orange smoke like Mephisto appearing in Faust. He had chosen the Foyer, but while everyone waited for him to appear on the grand marble staircase like he had done in his red death costume at the masked ball, he instead appeared directly before one of the doors. The two guards, still blinded by the orange smoke, were not fast enough to grab him and so he could step out of the opera. At first no one saw him from the outside, he was dressed from head to toe in black. Black wig, black suit, black shirt and black mask. The mask covered all of his face.

"Good evening," Erik greeted, his voice easily reaching the crowds as he turned round, "O pardon. It seems I forgot the policemen who wanted to arrest me." A nervous laughter answered him, confirming he surely got some sympathy from the people. **Good**.

Clemenceau rushed out of the door and approached Erik, several guards backing him up. The magistrate was furious, he hated that one man was able to sultify the authorities.

"Good evening, Monsieur Clemenceau," Erik intoned - he really intoned his little speech in a voice rather like singing than speaking and his angelic rich voice captured everyone, "I'm sorry to inform you that you are not the man to put an end to the Opera Ghost's reign of terror. In fact, it is not a man, who finally defeated me - it is a woman." He looked around, but could not find Christine. He had hoped she would be there but she was not, obviously not wanting to see him being chained. "An angel spoke to me - an angel! And her gentle innocence showed me the wrongness of the path I had chosen in life. I deeply regret what I have done and there is but one favor I ask of you - allow me to atone for my sins."

With that, he lifted his hands behind his neck and sank to his knees in a gesture that suggested defeat, only Clemenceau saw the look in his eyes that clearly stated "I win" as if he had spoken it. The magistrate looked at the crowds. Some had tears in their eyes, especially women seemed to be moved, and Clemenceau cursed under his breath. That bastard had won the hearts of the audience with his show, at least some of them. What was to be his ultimate defeat had turned out his ultimate victory.

"You are under arrest!" Clemenceau snapped and pushed Erik to the floor. Erik did not resist, he forced his body to go limp and allowed the policemen to shackle his hands behind his back. He was lifted to his feet and dragged to the waiting carriage, thrown in none too gently as he could hear the crowd shouting. Some even in his favor, he noticed to his delight.

Clemenceau entered the carriage as well, grabbed Erik and pushed him roughly into one seat, then the driver set the team in motion and the carriage took off in a rather high speed.

"Monsieur Morriere," Clemenceau began with barely controlled fury, "You gave them quite a show."

"Yes, I did," Erik answered cheerfully, "And I can't wait to read the newspapers tomorrow. I guess at least some of them will name me a tragic hero. French people love underdog rebels, you know."

Clemenceau reached out and snatched away Erik's black full face mask only to reveal the thin beige one underneath it. Erik twisted a bit, then handed the shackles to Clemenceau. "We won't need them any longer," he said.

"I have a mind to go back on my word," Clemenceau hissed.

"Why?" Erik asked innocently, "It was nearly perfect. The bad guy repents and surrenders to the heroic captain. It would have been better if I had knelt before Christine, but she was not there. Well, I left the decision to her and... maybe it was better like it is. She has a good heart and my little show would have broken her heart, to see me chained up and dragged away."

"You really think you get away with everything because you are so clever, don't you? Think again, buster. That is one week in a prison cell in chains for you, this will give you enough time to think about how to behave when dealing with authorities," Clemenceau informed him.

Erik shrugged: "You are a sore looser, aren't you? I am at your mercy now, **I know that.** If you hope I would do something stupid again like running away you are wrong. Come on - take your anger out on me. Beat me up, chain me and lock me up. You gave me your word of honor that you wouldn't. Break it and you are the one without honor, because **I kept my word**." They glared at each other. It was a audacious statement from Erik and he knew he was provoking the magistrate, but he could not control his need to win this game.

Clemenceau sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. "Two weeks," he said, "One more word from you and it will be a months."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik enjoys being the one in control - but he should be more careful what he says to whom._


	32. Punishment

**Education of the Heart**

 **Punishment**

The magistrate made sure Erik would be imprisoned and not able to escape, so he decided to have him in an isolated prison cell in the cellars without windows, one had to pass ten guarded double door systems to get there. Erik panicked as he noticed where they were taking him and begged to be held somewhere else, but Clemenceau was unyielding. "If you try to resist I have enough policemen who are rather angry with you and would gladly escort you to your prison cell. It is up to you," he stated coldly.

"No, **please** \- You know I suffer claustrophobia! You can't do this to me!" Erik argued.

"But you did not suffer claustrophobia in the cellars of the opera house, no matter how damp and narrow the place was," the magistrate retorted, "You already got away with far too much and now you've gone way too far and have to bear the consequences. It is two weeks, don't make it more by causing further trouble!"

Erik had no choice. Even a master escape artist like him could not escape from that cellar - at least not when he already was the center of everyone's attention. All he could do was trying to be as submissive as he could possibly manage to be.

It would be two very long and dark weeks for Erik, alone in a small prison cell with nothing but a wooden cot to sit and sleep on, chains at his ankles and wrists connected to huge iron rings in the crude stone wall. The only light he saw was the light from the lamp from the guard's room. He was not left alone for one moment, every single move would be watched by at least two guards.

Which lead to the first problem - he wasn't allowed to use a toilet, only a bucket in the tiny cell, and the guards were not allowed to look the other way. It was disgusting and humiliating, but he had no choice - no one can hold back for two days, much less two weeks. But the worst was the knowledge that he had no control over anything now, he was helpless and at their mercy. Panic seized him and even as he tried hard not to show, tried to control himself, he couldn't. At first he tried to persuade the guards to allow him some freedom, promised he wouldn't run, but when they refused - they were under strict orders, they could not agree - he used a piece of wire he had hidden in his shoe to open his chains. It brought some temporary relief, but then he remembered the threat that was all too present now - if he allowed himself the slightest mistake, the magistrate would have every right and reason to hold him there for the rest of his life. Removing his chains would be such a reason. He put them back on, much to the surprise of the guards who were ready to call for reinforcement should he try to escape.

Not even 48 hours after he had been arrested the guards had to inform Clemenceau that if he wanted the prisoner to survive the two weeks they would have to call a doctor. Clemenceau did not hesitate to send one of the guards to get Dr. Benevole, who, despite the late evening, came immediately.

Erik was in a really bad shape, the guards had removed his chains and opened the door to the cell for they were afraid he would die on them - which would cause them to lose their jobs. He was curled up in a fetal position on his cot, trembling and sweating, his heart raced and he was hyperventilating until his stomach turned and he retched, but his stomach was empty, so he could not throw up.

"Erik?" Dr. Benevole sat down on the small wooden cot, causing it to squeak. Erik looked up, his eyes red and widened in panic.

"Take me out of here," Erik begged, his voice like that of a small boy who is confronted with a horror beyond his belief, "I can't... I can't endure it any longer!"

Dr. Benevole turned to Clemenceau. "He is not faking this, no one can. His heart is racing and if he does not get any relief he will die of a heart attack and fever before the two weeks are over."

Clemenceau nodded. "We take him to the courtyard."

Dr. Benevole had to support Erik who was trembling and dizzy and would never have made his way through the dark corridors up to the small door that lead to the courtyard. As soon as the cold air hit him, Erik took a deep breath and stared up at the dark night sky and the stars. "Thank you," he whispered, sat down on the ground and just sat there, staring at the stars, until his heartbeat slowed down and he could breathe normally again. He was still trembling, but that was due to the coldness of this night in spring. Clemenceau ordered a guard to give him a blanket. He did not want the prisoner to fall ill.

"Not even 48 hours," Clemenceau mused, "How long do you think it took for the poor couple to die? Three days, four?"

Erik let out an anguished scream, drew his knees to his breast and pressed his face to his knees, hugging his legs, rocking back and forth. Dr. Benevole shot Clemenceau an angry glance, then knelt down next to Erik, placed his arm gently around the gaunt man's shaking shoulders. "It is okay, Erik, it is over," he tried to comfort him.

"Don't make me go back," Erik pleaded, "I do anything - anything, but please, please don't make me go back!"

"You still have 12 more days to serve," Clemenceau stated, "At least as long as you behave. Could be more if you don't."

"I'll be good - I promise!" He sounded much like a scared toddler now.

"Okay," Clemenceau sighed, "Come with me."

The other prison cell was even smaller, it was only 3 square meter, but it was on second floor and had a barred window. No furniture except the necessary bucket and a blanket. But it had a window with bars, but without glass, so it was cold. But he got a little bit of privacy for the door was made of solid wood and he would not be watched all the time.

Clemenceau was surprised about the reports he got about the prisoners behavior. Obviously he had managed to frighten Erik so much that he really did not try anything. Erik spend days and nights huddled in a corner, covered in his blankets, staring out to the sky. He did not sleep much, but he obediently ate when they told him to, no matter how disgusting the stuff was that was called "food". It was a terrible feeling, being completely helpless and having to obey for fear he would lose what little relief he had now. Two weeks. Two weeks could be an eternity for there was nothing he could do. He was alone with his thoughts and that was the worst of it - there was no way he could distract himself when his thoughts wandered to dark memories he preferred not to think about too much.

When the day came that he would be released, Erik was nervous, eager to get away from the prison cell, but ashamed of his behavior. He had completely submitted to them, obeyed every single command and rule, no matter how humiliating it was. And some were really disgusting and horribly humiliating, like when he had to undress to allow them to search him for weapons or hidden tools he could use to escape. Clemenceau had made sure that it was the doctor and no one else to see Erik naked, which was far more consideration than any other prisoner would ever get, but to Erik it was like he was caught in a horrible nightmare and not able to wake up. He was stripped of every bit of dignity, of every bit of freedom and even bereft of his free will - what he wanted or not did not count, he could only exist like a cow in a stable - chained to the wall, confined to a small place that allowed him to lie down or stand up, but nothing more, always accompanied by the stench of his unwashed clothes and body and that horrible bucket, that was emptied twice a day.

"Not one misconduct in two weeks," Clemenceau informed him when he opened the door to release him, "That is good. Tomorrow you come to my office and we discuss how to proceed in the future. You may go back to Gontier's - he's still willing to give you a job, you have no idea how lucky you are that you will not end up as a beggar now. No one else would be that generous and forgiving." Erik nodded, ashamed and degraded beyond measure.

The worst was yet to come. He would leave the prison in broad daylight and would be forced to walk the streets and everyone would see him. He was ashamed and scared, not knowing what the people would do to him.

But when the door was opened he saw Christine waiting for him in a cab. She opened the door and waived her hand, gesturing for him to come to her. He stood next to the carriage, ashamed of his unkempt shape. He did not know what to do, it was terrible to be seen by the woman he loved now.

"Come in," Christine said, "I will take you to your home."

"Thank you," he breathed and stepped inside and took a seat, trying to stay away from her as far as possible.

"It was Madame Giry's idea. You caused much publicity with the spectacle you made of your surrender and she found out when you would be released. We thought it would be best to bring you back in a carriage, so I came here," she answered and fell silent as the cab moved.

Erik nodded and stared at his shoes. "I am sorry," he whispered under his breath, "I never wanted you to see me like this." Christine studied him. Erik seemed smaller now, she had always perceived him as a tall man but right now he looked rather small and weak, of course he wasn't smaller than before, it was just how others saw him now, crouched in the corner of the cab, trying to hide as much as possible.

He took a shuddering breath and forced himself to go on: "Thank you for the ride."

"You're welcome," Christine answered with a pitying smile, "Tell me, Erik, they didn't mistreat you, did they?"

He shook his head. "No... not more than any other prisoner. In fact, I was treated better, but..." he shuddered, "It was horrible. I was completely at their mercy, they could have done everything and I would never have any chance to defend myself. I obeyed every order for I was far too scared of what they could do to me to say a word - I would have done anything - **anything**! I even obeyed orders that were not even given, trying to pacify them." Erik looked up at Christine's face and suddenly realized by the way she nodded that she knew exactly what it had been like for him. "O god, Christine... I... I'm sorry..." he whispered, finally realizing that he had no right to complain. He had been in the hands of the magistrate, who had treated him according to the law, bound by rules and regulations while she had been in his hands - the hands of a criminal who did not accept any rules except his own. He had known it would be over after two weeks, she did not have that luxury for he had threatened to keep her forever. He buried his masked face in his hands, weeping. "Christine... please forgive me."

Christine took him to the buildings at the dumping grounds, but she did not leave the cab. Erik tried to sneak in without anyone noticing, but Jules spotted him and with a cry "Erik back!" ran to him, didn't stop and flung himself on Erik so they both lost balance and fell to the ground. Within seconds Rene and Dede joined Jules and all three were hugging Erik until he had to ask them to get off for he could not breathe.

"Erik Morriere!" Gontier called out, "Kindly explain to me your absence from work?"

Erik got up and dusted off his clothes, looking at Gontier who was smaller than himself, but stood with his arms crossed and an angry expression on his face. He did not know how he could possibly start to explain anything.

"And better make it a good explanation," Gontier demanded.

"I've been arrested," Erik answered honestly, there was no point in denying that.

"Why?"

Erik felt like boy being chastised by a strict tutor. "Because... Monsieur Gontier, do we really have to do this?"

"No. I already know, Clemenceau told me. Do you know what trouble you caused? You are unreliable, faithless, untrustworthy. How do you expect me to be your business partner?" Gontier asked.

Erik hung his head in shame, he knew the other man was right. "You are right, you can't rely on me. I promise I will do my best, but... sometimes I..." he trailed off, he could not bring himself to admit that he would not be able to control what he was doing all the time.

"You can't be my partner, but you can be my employee," Gontier offered, "Then I can fire you when you cause too much trouble."

Erik winced. He could not say anything. Right now he could not think of anything else but that he needed a bath and to change his clothing. He had to wash the stench of the prison off his body and he needed to try to go back to living somehow, but right now he needed to wash and then sleep, he felt so very tired and cold. Finally he nodded. "Thank you, sir," he answered, knowing fully well that Gontier was giving him a chance where no one else would.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik has gone too far and now suffers the consequences. One can only hope that he learns from this experience._


	33. A New Chance

**Education of the Heart**

 **A New Chance**

Erik did keep his appointment with Clemenceau, making sure he looked shy and humble, knowing what this was about. He had defied the Republic of France - and failed. In the end the state was far more powerful than he could ever be. He had been chastised and did not want to repeat that - especially because he knew the next time he might never be free again.

Clemenceau almost laughed at the way Erik entered his office. His plan had worked, he had knocked the masked man off his perch. So now the magistrate could afford to be friendly and offered Erik to have a seat. Then he reached into a drawer and placed the bracelet Madame Buquet had given him on the desk. Erik's eyes narrowed but he said nothing. Finally it was up to the magistrate to start: "What is this?" he questioned.

"A bracelet," Erik answered before he could think. The answer sounded far more defiant than it was meant to be.

"Where did you get it?"

Erik stared at the precious jewels. "I stole it," he admitted.

Clemenceau took notes with his pen. "When? Where? Who is the rightful owner?"

Erik had to think about this. "About... I do not know... Somewhere in Turkey and the rightful owner is some trader whom I can't remember." It was a lie. But a lie he was sure to get away with.

Clemenceau sighed, crumbled the paper and threw it to the wastepaperbasket. "Not my jurisdiction," he explained, "Now to the more important question: You agreed to hand over all your savings to compensate your victims?"

Erik nodded and reached into his pocket, pulled out a tiny bag of black velvet and silk, which he placed on the magistrate's desk. He carefully opened the ribbons to reveal its contends. Clemenceau gasped in shock as he realized that it was a fortune in diamonds, rubies, sapphires and other precious stones.

"I do not know its value," Erik confessed, "But that is all I own, I swear." After a few minutes which the magistrate took to study the stones, he added: "Except one ring. But that... that ring... it was my... It was the engagement ring my father gave my mother." He reached into his pocket and placed the ring on the little finger of his left hand. It was a silver ring with a dark stone. Nothing too valuable, but clearly real silver and a masterfully cut stone, an amethyst. "I'd like to keep that one, please," Erik whispered absently as if he was not speaking to the magistrate, "It is all I have left from my parents."

"How much of that is stolen?" the magistrate asked.

"Except that ring? All of it. It is... I did not need 20.000 Franc a month, so I used most of it to buy these stones. They are very small, easy to hide and take with you if you are forced to run."

"So you did expect to get expelled from the opera house sooner or later?" Clemenceau asked.

Erik shrugged: "I always have at least two fallback options, usually more."

The magistrate took out another paper and made a very detailed inventory of everything Erik had given him before placing the stones in the little bag. He would put them in a safe later, but he would not risk letting Erik know where the safe was. Just in case. When he was finished, he pushed the paper toward Erik, ordering him to read it and sign it.

"This... this is a confession that all these precious stones have been bought with money I extorted from the opera house," Erik gasped, "And therefore I give them to the opera as a part of the compensation I owe them."

"Exactly. If you do that, I will ask them if they could accept that you try to support the Buquet family and if they would wait with their claims until the children are old enough to have jobs," Clemenceau promised, "As far as I know Monsieur Andre and Monsieur Firmin are not cruel men, I'm sure they will agree that the opera can wait a few years while these children cannot. They need to finish school and find apprenticeship places or they will never have a chance in their lives," the magistrate explained calmly.

Erik nodded. "I do not have any choice in this, do I?" he asked and Clemenceau shook his head. Erik reached for the pen and signed the paper, cursing under his breath.

* * *

When Erik was again busy dismantling the traps and spooks and bringing the material to the garbage collection enterprise, Clemenceau asked the managers to accompany him on a walk.

It was a warm day in spring, but the night before it had been raining cats and dogs. They went to the slums in the outskirts, the garbage yard was at the outskirts of the slum, if one could use that description. But instead of going to the dumping grounds, Clemenceau lead them through the streets. The streets in the slums were narrow and covered in mud. The mud was a mix of trash, sewage, water and filth and the stench of it as it was warmed by the sun in spring was awful. A dead dog was rotting in the street. How could anyone life under these circumstances? Yet in the streets were more children than in any other area of the city for most parents could not afford the school fees, even in the cheapest schools.

When people recognized Clemenceau as a magistrate they either ran - obviously many of them were wanted for some crimes and had quite a criminal record - or spit on the ground. In quarters where almost everyone had a criminal record the police is anything but popular.

Clemenceau approached a grim house in one of the narrow sidestreets. It was filthy and the windows broken and boarded up. The facade was filthy and grim, the roof leaking but one could see that repair work was done here and there. There was a sign: "Clothes and More - Second Hand"

"More twentieth hand," Firmin observed and Andre was absolutely sure his shoes - which would likely be ruined by now by the stinking mud - were more valuable than the shop including the building and everything within. Why had the magistrate insisted on coming here?

They entered the small shop, a bit of the mud running over the threshold as they opened the door. The floor was nothing but earth. The walls were naked bricks, and these bricks were black with mold. There was one room and it was moist, cold, unfriendly, but as clean as it could get under these circumstances.

There was a crude desk and shelves with clothing, shoes and various household items. A patched curtain divided the room, but it was now drawn back and revealed a bed and a stove, obviously the living space for the shopkeeper.

"Madame Buquet," Clemenceau greeted the woman and she smiled at him and greeted all of them friendly.

"Buquet?" Firmin whispered to his colleague, "The name rings a bell, but I can't place it."

"The stagehand the Phantom murdered during Il Muto," Andre answered.

"To what do I own the honor of your visit?" Madame Buquet asked and only then the managers noticed her crippled hand. The managers looked at each other awkwardly, neither one knew what to say now.

The magistrate started: "Madame Buquet, kindly tell the two managers of the opera house why they should postpone their damage claims against Monsieur Morriere for now?"

Madame Buquet winced. It was degrading and she felt like a beggar, she did not like begging for mercy but she had to now. "After my husbands death I was left with five children and we had nothing. After I confronted Monsieur Morriere, he tried to support us, persuaded Gontier to open this shop and employ me. My wages are enough to feed my children and we can live here - but Monsieur Morriere pays the school fees, if he is not having one of his fits of madness, that is," she added bitterly, "And I have to admit that he provides clothing for us." She turned away to hide her embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Messieurs... please don't..."

"We understand," Firmin said compassionately. And he surely did. If he forced Erik to pay the damage claims first, he would no longer be able to help the Buquet family. They would not starve, but without graduation from school the children would never have any chance in their lives. "Andre? A word please."

They left the shop to talk among themselves. It was a heated discussion for they were the managers of the opera house and had to answer to the officials from the ministry of education and cultural affairs for what they were doing. Finally they agreed that they would not give the Phantom-fellow - that was how they called him among themselves - a quarter, but they would allow him to help the Buquet family. In fact, they somehow felt they should do something for the widow Buquet themselves, but they did not want to humiliate her offering to give her money. And, of course, the precious stones would make up for much of the damage.

When they entered the shop, they asked about the shop and Madame Buquet eagerly told them that she had hopes for another shop in better quarters of the city, if Erik would be allowed to work as watchmaker and Gontier would finance the new business. To Clemenceau's surprise the woman knew much about Gontier's and Erik's ideas, she even had some samples of what they would want to sell there - watches, toys, music boxes of Erik's design. "It would be a chance to send my children to a better school. You see, Messieurs, if they ask for an apprenticeship place with a graduation from the school here in the slums they will be turned away. I know what honorable men think about scum like us here in the slums, but here I learned that there are many gifted children who will never have any chance in life," she explained.

"I see your point," Andre told Clemenceau, "And we won't cause any trouble for Madame Buquet. But that does not go for Erik Morriere - I'd gladly see that man starving!"

"A starved man can't work," Madame Buquet replied softly, "As much as I'd love to see his head fall under the Guillotine for what he did to my poor Joseph, right now I am dependent on him and so I am forced to ask for mercy for him."

"You are a remarkable woman, Madame," Firmin said.

"I'm not. Just a mother worried about her children."

* * *

Erik was not really happy with the outcome of the whole affair. He had been beaten into submission and felt like the whole world was turning against him and laws were only made by rich and powerful men to cheat others, especially him. Of course he did complain to Dr. Benevole about that - he did not dare tell anyone else, the memory of being imprisoned was far too fresh and he knew the Buquet children had lost months in school and would not be able to catch up, they would have to repeat class. Another year he had to worry about.

Dr. Benevole was not happy with the whole affair - too many people confronting his patient with too many problems at one time. Even if Erik thought himself being superior due to his intellect, he was not able to withstand stress. He was emotionally very unstable and needed support and help, not pressure. Erik had not yet reached a level of social integration where he would just accept that in every society rules had to exist and be obeyed or there would be no functioning society, but he reluctantly obeyed now, afraid of the consequences of any crimes.

"I will never be free," Erik complained, "I will never be able to live again, I will always be a slave, working myself to death and never getting anything for myself. I do not even have time for music now, I am constantly busy working, in fact, I am working so much I don't have time to work, if you understand what I am talking about. They won, doctor, they won and I lost - they have me right where they want me. A slave, not even a human being, more like a horse they can ruin by bad riding until it drops dead."

"You are being unfair," the doctor replied, "First, who is 'they'?"

"Humankind itself!" Erik spat sulkily, "I hate them."

"What is humankind?" Dede asked and for once the doctor was grateful that Erik still kept his three friends around.

"Everyone," Erik answered annoyed.

"Me too?" Rene asked, looking at Erik with tears in his eyes.

Erik frowned, then his expression changed. "No, I do not hate you and you did nothing wrong," he comforted them softly, "You are good friends."

"Doctor is not humankind," Jules said seriously, nodding to make a point, "He's not bad. Gives us chocolate."

"Girl singer is not human," Dede drew a conclusion, "Gontier is not human. You don't hate them."

Erik chuckled. "I guess I got them completely confused," he told the doctor and started a lengthy explanation that hating humankind did not mean he would hate every single person, but eventually he failed in his reasoning for the three men could not understand the differences he made. Finally he gave up and had to admit that he could not want something bad to befall all humankind for it would affect his friends as well.

The three mongoloid men stared at him, obviously utterly confused by now.

"I guess you have no idea what I am talking about," Erik sighed.

"We understand," Rene protested firmly, "We not stupid."

"Chocolate?" Dede held out a piece of chocolate to Erik, who accepted the chocolate and ate it. That was new, usually he did not eat many sweets, but right now he was hungry.

The doctor took some notes. He was absolutely sure the influence of these three men who were considered idiots by most people on Erik was greater than anything he, the doctor, could ever do. But he could not use this as a model for other patients, the risk was too high. What worked for this one could drive others mad or endanger people. He considered giving certain prisoners pets to teach them how to care for another living being. It was worth a try.

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 _Thanks for reading and please review!_


	34. Defiance

**Education of the Heart**

 **Defiance**

Dr. Benevole took it upon himself to gently push Erik in the direction he wanted him to think. Instead of complaining or plotting revenge or daydreaming of what he would like to do to whom he suggested Erik should so something reasonable and try to pursue the business plans he had made with Gontier.

"What for? Gontier can only open that shop if he has a master watchmaker. And I never finished apprenticeship, I already told you," Erik was close to whining that day. It was a beautiful day in late spring and he was finally finished with dismantling the traps and spooks, but the money he had gotten from that was far less than he had hoped for. He could not enjoy the warm weather or the flowers blooming - right now he felt hopeless. He would forever live in poverty, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to get to some place he thought rightfully his.

"But you could pass final apprenticeship examination and examination for the master's certificate?" the doctor suggested.

"They will try everything they can to make me fail," Erik replied, staring out of the window, "Or do you think any master watchmaker would want to have to call **me** colleague? As long as I accept being treated like dirt, they do not beat me up, but they punish me every time I just try to lift my face from the dust." He turned and the doctor noticed a bruise on Erik's jaw. At closer inspection he saw that Erik's knuckles were bruised too - the man had been in a fight.

"What happened?" the doctor asked.

Erik answered bitterly: "The usual. Workmen don't take it lightly if a **freak** is out of line and tries to give them orders. They gave me a good trashing last night."

"Did you report the assault?" the doctor asked.

Erik stared at him in shock. "Report to the police? Do you want me to get killed?" he gasped, "My standing is hard enough, if I dare report them I won't survive." The doctor raised an eyebrow, skeptical if he could trust Erik in that. Erik stretched his legs and massaged one knee. "This is not the first time," he said, "And don't even suggest I tell Gontier. Do you know what happens to me if they lose their jobs? The last man who reported them lost three fingers. I... without my fingers I would never be able to play and compose again. No. I have to endure the beating, clean up and go on with my life as if nothing had happened. The law does not protect **me**."

"Let me examine you," the doctor asked, completely absorbed in his professional need to help.

Erik barked a bitter laugh. "Not done seeing me naked? No, it is just bruises and a mild concussion. Thank you, but no."

"It is important that you get out of there," the doctor stated.

"O yes?" Erik cynically replied, "I would never have thought of this, really."

"Erik, I am serious. I had no idea you were suffering abuse there..."

"I did not," Erik interrupted angrily, "Living in the slums is nothing for sissies. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose. That's life. But I am **not** a victim!" This statement was absolutely odd coming from Erik after hours of complaining how unfair humankind was. The doctor could only assume that Erik lived many different roles in his life and right now he was the underdog from the slums to whom the word "victim" was a very demeaning curse word.

The doctor glanced at the three mongoloid men, they were busy trying to read a newspaper. They had already read two headlines, which was far more than anyone would have thought them capable of. They acted as if the constant threat and fighting was absolutely normal. Of course, they had always lived in the slums at the dumping grounds. He had to get Erik out of there or the man would always be a threat of sorts - right now the doctor was convinced that Erik would commit crimes but the people in the slums just did not report them.

"If the master watchmakers don't want you to pass the exam, why don't you try? It would be the ultimate triumph if you force them to let you pass, wouldn't it? You know that the examiner has to congratulate for passing the test?" Dr. Benevole tried to channel Erik's frustration into something useful.

Erik frowned and thought about this for a while. "Yes... I'd like to see these haughty men having to congratulate me, the freak, and shake my hand," he answered, "I'd really like that. But to make sure they can't break the law I want witnesses. I am allowed to have two witnesses at my side during the exam. I want you and the magistrate. Surely they won't dare cheating if the magistrate himself is my witness?"

* * *

Summer was a difficult time for Erik, always had been, for the heat of the sun made it more difficult than usually to wear hat, wig and mask. He so much wished to be able to run around with his head and face bared, but he didn't dare. The stares, mockery and occasional attacks were bad enough when he was wearing a mask. He knew it would be worse when they would see his face.

He was irritable and often unfair to his friends, yelling at them and even raising his hand against them, just because he was frustrated and nervous because of the upcoming exam. He had to work and in the evening sat in his workshop to learn from books what he would need for the exam. The practical skill was not the trial, it was the part about bookkeeping, taxes, law and historical clockwork that worried him. Bookkeeping was just maths, that was not the problem, but taxes and law - the more he read the more confused he was. There were so many rules and regulations, he could not remember all of them and would never be able to obey them for some of them contradicted each other. It gave him a terrible headache and the knowledge that everyone in the examining board would try his best to make him fail was doing nothing for his nerves.

* * *

The doctor had a hard time to convince the magistrate to help Erik. Clemenceau refused outright, he was already investing far too much time helping a criminal. He was a magistrate and had to arrest criminals, not make their life easier. Only when the doctor told him that this was a good sign, that Erik had grown to trust Clemenceau to treat him correct and fair, the magistrate finally agreed to be watch the exam.

* * *

A very hot Monday late in August was chosen for the exam, forcing the men of the examining board to wear dark suits despite the heat. Erik was dressed in a black suit that was far more elegant than the other men's for he had chosen one of his best suits. Clemenceau couldn't help noticing that Erik wore golden cufflinks and a golden tiepin, but said nothing.

The theory exam took five hours, five hours in which Erik had to stand and was not allowed to take a seat or get a glass of water despite the oppressing heat. Dr. Benevole felt like he himself - who was just sitting at the side and could drink from a bottle whenever he felt the need - might faint from the heat. The men of the examination board had taken off their suit coats and opened their collars, Erik did not even ask for such a relief. The questions were carefully worded so they would be hard to understand and it was hard to just figure out what the question was about.

Finally they were asked to wait outside for they had to discuss the exam.

Erik sank to a chair, took off his coat and loosened his collar. "You need some water," the doctor advised and when Erik did not react he went to fetch a glass of water for him. Erik took the glass and drained it in one gulp, his eyes bloodshot and his hands shaking from the heat and the stress.

"I told you they try to make me fail," Erik said, his voice raspy. He was completely worn out and did not care if he passed the exam or not, he could not care for anything right now.

Gontier entered the building. He looked worried, especially as he saw Erik sitting on a bench, leaning against the wall, drenched in sweat. "Did they already decide?" he asked.

Clemenceau shook his head. "No. They are keeping us in suspense."

Erik's eyes snapped open. Had the magistrate just said " **us** "?

It took hours until the door opened. Erik got up, steadying himself with one hand against the wall for a moment before he put on his coat and straightened his collar. He was pale, almost yellow, now and sweat was running down his neck under the black wig and the mask.

"Monsieur Morriere," one man started, "We had expected much more from a man like you. You barely passed the theory part, but we had a heated discussion if we could allow you to pass."

Erik tried to let this information sink in. He had passed, meaning he had been so good they could not blackball him, all they could do was giving him a bad mark, and that they did.

"You have the choice either to accept the mark or protest it," another man informed him.

"No... I accept," Erik answered, too weary to fight for a better mark right now. He passed this part of the exam - and he would not waste his time and energy to fight for a just grading if he passed the exam. A bad mark was just that - a bad mark. Nothing that would prevent him from further pursuing the business plans he had made with Gontier.

"Okay, now for the practical part of the test. You have one week to produce a masterpiece. The task is: A customer wants you to make an alarm clock for him."

Erik rolled his eyes. Alarm clocks were far more difficult than normal clocks.

"He is deaf," the man continued, "And blind. So he can't see the clock and can't hear it. But he wants to be able to set the time it would wake him in the morning."

"That is not a fair task!" Gontier objected.

"Monsieur Morriere, do you feel being treated unfairly?" the man addressed Erik directly, his voice dripping for arrogance and contempt.

Erik took his time thinking about the given task. It was clearly something no one had ever accomplished and he was not sure he was up to the task. "What choice do I have?" he asked.

"You can withdraw your request for becoming a master clockmaker," he was informed, the board members clearly enjoying this, "Or you could try and if you fail you can protest - but I assure you we had the tasks we are giving you double checked by the most honorable members of our guild and they approved." Of course. Who would like a masked man who was considered a dangerous madman in a guild?

"Then I accept. One week, you say? Any other specifications or is it completely up to me what I do with the order from this rather uncommon customer?"

"O yes - the alarm should not wake anyone but the customer himself."

"Now you are carrying it to the excess," the magistrate objected. He highly valued justice and fairness and this exam was highly unfair. They had not been able to turn Erik down so they tried to make him fail by giving him a task no one could accomplish - and then let him try his luck in a highly bureaucratic procedure that would take years.

The board members looked at each other, knowing he was right. But they would not give the masked scum who tried to wrestle his way into their guild an inch. Certainly not.

* * *

"Highly unfair!" Gontier exclaimed upset when they left the building.

"I agree," Dr. Benevole answered, "This is not an exam. It is execution."

"It is exactly what I expected," Erik sighed and gestured to his mask, "With a face like this, who would want to have to call you 'colleague'?"

"Come with me, I invite you to a drink," Gontier said and pointed to a shabby cafe, "I need a drink and Erik here looks like he might faint any moment from dehydration."

The wine the cafe served was rough, but the taste helped to reduce the sensation of thirst. Neither Clemenceau nor the doctor would ever have ordered such cheap wine, but to Gontier that was just normal wine, and Erik did not care about the taste as long as he could get some relief from the stress, heat and thirst. It was odd sitting with the other men at that table drinking a glass of wine. Erik had not thought it possible any honorable man would want to be seen in his company in public space but here they were. He could not help feeling great respect and gratitude for the three men who treated him like he was normal now.

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 _Erik learns a valuable lesson. While the men from the examination board behave exactly like he anticipated, he is surprised to find that there are men who are rather on his side and offer support._

 _Next chapter will be up after the Easter Holidays._


	35. Creativity Triumphs

**Education of the Heart**

 **Creativity Triumphs**

It was fascinating for Dr. Benevole to see Erik at work. The first two days Erik did nothing. He enjoyed a ride on the giant horse Thunder, made a fuss about cooking a lengthy meal for himself and his friends, inviting Dr. Benevole to join them, and spend eight hours playing with the cat. But he did not even start on any kind of alarm clock. Dede, Rene and Jules kept their distance, sensing Erik would not tolerate anyone talking to him now and the doctor was sensible enough to follow their example.

The third day Erik started building a bed from at least six different beds that had been broken and thrown away. Nothing like a clock, but suddenly Dede asked Erik to sing for them again. Erik complied, singing some popular drinking songs with them. A very good sign, he had somehow broken out of his bad mood and was able to tolerate social contact again.

Only then did Erik start to build an apparatus that seemed to be a weird mixture between a grandfather clock and a magician's box and would be fixed to the headboard of the bed. Dr. Benevole was glad to have the privilege to see a genius at work, even if it meant having to see the man throwing things around, creating a complete chaos in the workshop, drinking much tea and leaving half-filled teacups everywhere around the room, leaving it to his three friends to clean up after him.

It was a surprise to the doctor that the three mongoloid men were up to that task, they knew what to do and they knew how to get Erik to interrupt his work and prepare some food for them. He would have gone without food or rest, but his three friends knew they just had to whine long enough and he would give them what they wanted. The doctor was surprised how much practical intelligence these three men had. They knew that Erik had to eat and sleep, they knew how to clean up while he was constantly making a mess. It was as if he needed the chaos - as much as he cursed it - to get in the right creative mood. But it resulted in him yelling at his friends, accusing them of hiding his tools and throwing things through the room.

Dede, Rene and Jules ignored his fury where others would have run away. They knew he was just frustrated and not really angry with them, he just needed to let off some steam.

The closer the day of the exam came, the more nervous Erik became. Dr. Benevole would never have guessed to see Erik fret like this, to the point where he got physically ill, got fever, sickness and diarrhea so the doctor felt obliged to help him. The problem was - it was no real illness, it was just nerves. Of course he could have tried to give him something to calm him down, but given Erik's history, especially his high risk for addiction, he decided to advise Erik against any medicine or drugs to find relief from the stress.

Erik accepted that and asked the doctor for herbs. He had a list which herbs he would need to make some tea that should help him. The doctor knew about the effect of the herbs, it would help his upset stomach and even be a mild sedative. Only the taste would be horrible. But it worked, that and the horrible cat - the cat from hell as the doctor secretly called the beast - which had decided that she was Erik's hottie for his upset stomach now.

The night before the exam Dr. Benevole decided to stay with his patient for Erik was a nervous wreck and the doctor was not sure he would be able to stand on his feet the next day. The doctor tried to help Erik and at the same time wondered if Erik would suffer from such anxiousness every time he had to pass a test or perform in public or even blackmail the managers. Erik usually pretended to have nerves of steel, but right now he was a shaking wreck and full self-pity for he knew that everyone was against him.

* * *

The next day Erik took a bath and got dressed in his best suit. When he was finished he looked like nothing could ever trouble him. He appeared to be totally calm and facing everything and everyone with an arrogant smile, absolutely sure that no one and nothing could ever trouble him. The doctor knew better. He had been the one to sit with Erik the whole night in the workshop for Erik had send his three friends to go to bed, not wanting them to see him breaking down. It had been the doctor who somehow helped him through the horrible night.

When Erik left to greet his three friends and Gontier, all four determined to watch the exam and stand at his side if he needed them, he appeared to be absolutely convinced that nothing could ever shake him and surely not some unimportant exam.

* * *

The men from the examination board were not happy that they had to come to the workshop at the dumping grounds for the clock was far too heavy to be transported to the decent house where the exam should take place. They greeted Clemenceau, a rather tired Dr. Benevole, even Gontier, but ignored Erik and his three friends who had put on their best suits and were standing attention like royal guards.

"Now, where is that huge alarm clock?" one man asked and Erik showed them to his workshop. There was a bed, complete with mattress, blanket and pillow, and a large box at the head, which obviously was the clock. The clock faced towards the bed so that the head of the bed could be placed against a wall. Erik wound up the clock like any other clock was to be wound up and set it. The men from the examination board took notes. He explained that he had decided against covering the clock with glass so the customer - who was blind and deaf - would feel the hands with his fingers. There was a third hand, which was much longer and broader than the other two. Erik explained this was the one to set the time the alarm was to go off.

"Who wants to test it?" Erik asked cheerfully and the men discussed among themselves and finally one was picked to try it. He did lie down on the bed.

"Rather comfortably," he commended, "Now, how am I to wake up?"

"In 30 seconds," Erik chuckled and the doctor, the magistrate and Gontier gave each other a worried look - they knew that Erik was up to some mischief.

"The clock is rather loud and unsightly," one member of the examination board complained.

"The customer is **blind and deaf** ," Erik snapped, "Surely this can't be a problem."

That moment the alarm went off - a tiny trapdoor, no one had noticed before, opened and water shot from it, spraying all over the pillow - and the head of the man in the bed.

"Ugh! Yuck! What's that?" the man protested and jumped from the bed.

"The task was to make sure he would wake up in time for sure - it was not that it was to be a pleasant morning," Erik calmly explained, "And I made damn sure he would get out of bed in time."

"But the clock is... too loud, too large and ugly."

"Yes, but you did not specify it to be beautiful, small or quiet," Erik protested.

Suddenly one of the board members, the youngest one, spoke up: "Shouldn't we grant him extra points for creativity?"

Again Erik and his witnesses had to wait for hours while the men discussed the result. Erik pretended to be calm, but the way he started to tell jokes about people dying made the magistrate and Dr. Benevole shudder. Had this man no other way to release his anxiety than thinking of murder?

"I have to admit that I would never want such an alarm clock," Gontier stated, "But I congratulate you to this solution."

Erik chuckled. "Surely you wouldn't want that. But you can use every liquid you like - and I... well, the water was not really **pure**..."

The magistrate gasped while Gontier laughed out loud and the doctor couldn't help smirking. They had a certain suspicion what Erik had put into the water and they could not really be angry with him for they knew just how unfair he was being treated.

Finally the board members told Erik that they could not decide if they could allow him to pass the test. But they would be generous - how Erik managed to keep a straight face at that was a miracle - and give Erik one last chance.

They took him to one of their own workshops, where they laid out the task for him. "We already dismantled this pocket watch. Put it together so it works and you pass the test."

Erik stared at the table. There were not all parts he would need, this watch would never work for they had removed some essential cogs. "I can't do it like this..." Erik told them.

"O, you can use every tool here in this workshop," was the answer.

"So... just to make sure I do not misunderstand you. I can use **everything** that is in this very room right now?" Erik asked cautiously.

"Yes, that is right. But of course you are not allowed to damage anything."

"Naturally," Erik replied, "Can I... may I ask you to leave me alone for my work?"

"Certainly." They left one of the board members to stay and make sure Erik would not leave the room. The rest decided to go to a restaurant and have lunch.

When they came back, Erik greeted them with a smile, telling them the watch was working. He handed it over and it was ticking and the hands moving. It had been set and was working perfectly.

"It works... but how? Why?" the men from the examination board could not understand how Erik could have accomplished that task. One looked past Erik to the table where some tools lay in a disarray and two of their own pocket watches dismantled and taken apart. Obviously Erik had picked their pockets and used their watches to get the missing parts.

"Our watches!" one man exclaimed angrily.

"It was **you** yourself who told me I might use **everything in this room**. You and your watch **were** in this room at that very moment," Erik protested, "You said if I make it work only with things from that room, I pass the test."

"But out watches!" the oldest man shouted furiously.

"Were in that room at the precise moment I asked," Erik retorted, "And of course I can reverse the whole process, making your watches work again. This one is working - so I passed the test, didn't I?"

"We have to discuss..."

" **NO**!" Clemenceau interrupted with all his authority as a magistrate, "You will **not** discuss anything. I watched long enough what you did to him - you did your worst to fail him and he answered all questions, no matter how unfair they were, solved two tasks which seemed absolutely impossible to be solved and if you do not sign his master craftsman certificate today I will write a detailed report about abuse of position and I dare say my colleagues do not take such things lightly."

Erik's jaw dropped. He had never thought the magistrate would use his authority for his benefit rather than to repress and punish him. The men from the examination board looked at each other awkwardly, then one of them sighed and put his signature on the document. "Barely good enough, if it was up to me you would get the mark "inadequate", but you seem to have friends in high positions..." One by one they signed and finally they had to hand Erik the document and, as it was custom, congratulate him. They did with the most sour faces and reluctantly shook his hand, but it was obvious that they would have preferred to shake hands with a rat from the sewers.

Erik was too stunned to react or to really enjoy what was happening. He could not understand or think of anything, only when Dede, Rene and Jules hugged him and clapped him on the back, he realized that this was over. He started trembling as the shock set in as if he had been in deadly peril.

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 _I'm sorry you will have to wait for the next chapter a bit longer than usual. Please review! I really appreciate every review._


	36. New Place, Old Problems

**Education of the Heart**

 **New Place, Old Problems**

If Erik would have been asked what the hardest part of the exam was, he would later tell laughingly that it was the day after - he had no idea what to do. It was custom to celebrate, but how and with whom? He lacked these social skills that were common knowledge for others. Luckily no one expected him to host a party or invite someone.

Gontier had been busy in summer - he had established a new enterprise and rented a store in a nice area of the city. The store was in a large house which had all in three stores and a cafe. But this one store had a very large workshop directly behind the shop where Erik could work, and a flat for the shopkeeper. The only problem was that the flat and the store would have to share toilet and bathroom. Neither Erik nor Madame Buquet were happy when they learned that - they had hoped they would be able to avoid each other to some degree.

The workshop was large, really large, Erik would need maybe one third of the space for his work, the rest could be used as living space, he could put up beds, a stove, cupboards and even a table with chairs for their meals. But he had a very hard decision to make: Could he take Dede, Rene and Jules with him? If he was ever going to marry Christine, he would have to tell them that he could no longer live together with them. This would not mean he didn't like them, would not mean he would stop seeing them and working with them - but he could not just take them with him. Would it be better to tell them to move out then or would it be easier to tell them now?

The three men were packing their few belongings, singing happily a song Erik had taught them. He stood there, watching them and it broke his heart to leave them. They were so happy to come with him to his new life.

"We can't take the cat with us," Erik explained, "In the elegant house she would be locked up and here in the dumping grounds she's free to roam. She will be happier here."

Rene frowned: "Why lock her up?"

Erik sat down and heaved a sigh. "Because, my dear friend, she would run away to come back here. Cats love their territory."

"O," Rene glanced at the cat, "Okay."

This was not what Erik had hoped for. He had somehow hoped to find a way to tell them to stay here. Now he rebuked himself for being selfish. They were his friends, how could he tell them now that they did not fit in his new, better lifestyle? How could he - he of all people - do that?

"Is difficult?" Jules asked.

"What?" Erik asked. Why did they always assume he could read their thoughts?

"Care for elephants?" Jules asked.

"Elephants? I do think so, why do you ask?" Erik was utterly confused.

"We move to elephant house..." Jules explained as if Erik was a stupid child.

Erik roared with laughter. "Elegant, Jules, not elephant! Haha!" He shook his head. "Elephant... haha!"

"No elephants?" Dede seemed to be disappointed.

"No. Elephants live in Africa and some in India, they are happier there. It is far too cold in Europe for them," Erik explained.

"And so now we go live there 'cause we happy there?" Dede asked.

Erik found he did not have the heart to tell them that he was leaving for a better live and leave them there in the slums. He simply could not do it.

* * *

Moving in proved to be difficult. The other people living in the block of flats and the other two shopkeepers were not happy to have a family from the slums moving in, they snapped at Madame Buquet that they hoped her street bastards knew the difference between "yours" and "mine", they looked down at the shabby dress and the crippled hand of the widow.

The children suffered the mocking from other children who called them "slum-scum" and one was pushed with his head in the toilet just to show him that this was were they would have to shit and not in the flat itself. It was a very hard time for the children because the other children thought they were the perfect excuse to do everything that was forbidden and then blame the scrum from the slums. Madame Buquet was far too daunted to retort something and instead promised to punish her children or clean up whatever mess there was - knowing fully well that it had not been her children's fault an of course she would not punish them.

The situation became worse when they first saw Erik and his three friends. A masked man living together with three mongoloid idiots was more than suspicious. Before they could even set one foot in the house one of the shopkeepers told them to move out for this was a decent house and not an asylum. Erik tried not to get angry. He clenched his teeth and said nothing. But it hurt, badly. These people did not know anything about him or his friends and surely not about the widow Buquet and her children, they just looked at them and were full of hatred.

Erik was even more angry that everyone who seemed to be in touch with him was a target for prejudice and mocking as well. Even the Buquet family, whom he had wanted to protect, shared in his disgrace. Some people even assumed that he was the natural father of the children and that his three friends were his children too - which they weren't, in fact, they were about the same age as he was.

It became worse when the shop actually opened. Erik did not make normal watches and clocks, routine jobs were not to his tastes. He liked to do something new, like building music boxes, toys, clocks combined with music boxes, clocks combined with toys, watches in a walking stick, watches as necklaces, an umbrella with a tiny music box in it, even furniture with some special mechanism in them. He loved to create something new from the pieces he found in the trash. He still disliked buying much, it was much more fun to do something completely new and he still wondered what one could find in the trash. Sometimes he would even find one single earring - a beautiful piece of gold and ruby - or other valuable things, maybe thrown away after or in some quarrel by people who did not consider these things valuable.

There was a certain clientele - mainly young rich bored men - who liked the things Erik made because they were "unique" and some even called them "avantgarde", especially the clocks with the different music for each hour.

But with the good money the shop made, more trouble came, not with other shopkeepers or the small cafe for they actually hoped that the customers who would come to buy fancy watches would visit their shops at well, but with the other people in the house. They started rumors that the shop was really a meeting point for the bosses of criminal community and the watches, toys and music boxes just a way to smuggle forbidden weapons, drugs or dirty money from one criminal boss to another. Nothing of that was true, but a man in a mask who was aided by three idiots and hid most of the time in his workshop was truly suspicious.

The people there did not attack Erik directly, they would never stoop so low, but they surely knew how to cause trouble. It started with rumors that he was a criminal and the half-mask served to conceal his identity for he was a boss in the underworld and a scar on his cheek would identify him. Well, this rumor was nothing new to Erik, he chose to ignore it. The next rumor came up as he started to dress in better clothing, especially due to the fact that he had to deal with customers, even if he hated it. Now they thought he was after the youngest of girls and the mask and the toys and music boxes were simply to lure little children into his workshop. Nothing of this was true, but all the rumors finally became complaints to the police, something no one could ignore.

Clemenceau was forced to have a look at the situation and found nothing wrong with the little shop. Erik wearily asked him to have the police search the store for any suspicious objects and they found none - not even the umbrella with the hidden gun Erik had build. They mistook it for a normal umbrella.

When this did not help, the other tenants in this block of flats complained to the landlord that they did no longer feel save and it was too loud and of course the good reputation of him was in danger if he allowed a group of criminals to run their shop there. The landlord, who was a personal friend of Gontier, did not just cancel the contract but asked his friend if there were any problems.

Gontier hadn't known about any problems for Erik would never ask anyone for help, this would be like admitting weakness, and Madame Buquet was too scared of having to move back to the slums if she did. He decided to meet them in the shop and talk with the landlord and with his employees if there really had been trouble.

It was a cold evening before Christmas. Not even three month, Erik thought bitterly, and everyone in the neighborhood wants to see me expelled. Not even three months.

They sat together in the small shop, Gontier was admiring a special music box with a tiny clock. Every hour the music box would play a soft tune and two figures would dance to the tune, moving around the plate in a different way each hour. Erik leaned against the counter, Madame Buquet sat at her seat behind the counter. The shop's furniture was like a barrier against customers, Gontier noticed. The place for the customers was right after they came through the door. It was nice, with couch to sit on and paper flowers. But the counter was massive and like a barrier. The shelves with the goods were behind the counter. This would make it more difficult to steal something, quite a good idea. If someone wanted something, the shopkeeper would have to get it and put it in the counter.

"So, the other tenants are complaining," the landlord started.

"About what?" Erik snorted, "The noise? What noise? This workshop had been a shoemaker's before, this caused far more noise than my work. Yes, I have a tiny upright piano, but I do not have time to play it often, maybe one or two hours a week and I doubt they would even hear that. Or is it the rumor about me abducting and raping small children again? Nothing of that is true, I never harmed any child!"

"Yes, they do feel intimidated by you," the landlord confirmed.

" **Intimidated**?"Erik had trouble to control his temper, "They had less reason to fear me if they left me in peace!"

"It is not just you they complain about," the landlord stated and looked at Madame Buquet.

The poor woman suddenly cried out: "Yes, they complain about me and my children! I know what happens - their children threaten and pummel mine almost every day on their way home from school, their children play cruel tricks and then blame mine - and I dare not defend them, I know they are innocent but I fear the situation would escalate. Every day I have to clean something up or repair something - and every day I have to wash the cruel words they write on the windows with lipsticks or dirt off! Yesterday a boy pissed in the staircase and blamed my children - I had to clean it up, but I know it was the teacher's boy from the third floor. But no one believed that a well-educated boy would do that - participate in a pissing game in the staircase! In the slums my children were pummeled and called snobs because they went to school - here they are pummeled because they are just scum from the gutter. But I see the bruises, see their tears each and every day and there is nothing I can do!" She buried her face in her arms, half-lying on the counter now, and cried.

Erik turned to her. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly, his voice slightly quavering.

"What good would that do?" Madame Buquet sobbed, "What could you possibly do?"

Erik kept quiet. He knew that there were things he could do - but they were neither legal nor did he really want that. Of course he could give them the monster everyone believed him to be, but that would only get him in even more trouble. "I'm sorry you share in my fate now," he said softly and reached out as if he wanted to touch her in a gesture of comfort, but thought better of it and clasped his hands behind his back.

"These are serious accusations," the landlord stated.

"Yes, I know. They could get me in prison, the wife of the lawyer, second floor vis-a-vis told me. But they are true and if you don't believe me, go ahead, throw me out," Madame Buquet replied miserably. She had lost all hope.

Erik sighed and shook his head. He and his three friends could hide themselves most time so they were not the main targets for the neighborhood. He had never thought they would take their hatred against him out on the Buquet children. But it was logical - Erik himself was nearly unreachable and he was a grown up man and quite strong. It was not so easy to attack him, he would fight back. But the children couldn't defend themselves.

"Maybe we should just give in and move out," Madame Buquet sighed.

"Do you really think it would be better somewhere else?" Erik replied bitterly, "It won't. This is how I lived all my life. No matter where I go, it is always the same. Do you think it does not hurt if children throw stones and dirt at me? Do you think it does not hurt when they call the police two times a day because they thought they might have seen me watching their daughters? At least I do not have to fight them every so often."

"No, my children get the beatings!"

"They are **children**!" Erik snapped, "It is **normal** that they get beaten each day. It is only bruises and damaged clothes - that is nothing! They did not loose teeth, eyes or have broken bones or a concussion. They are **lucky** , do you know that?" He noticed how everyone just stared at him in shock. Had he said something wrong? It took him a moment to realize that not everyone would consider it normal for a child to be pummeled each day and consider it lucky if it was just bruises and nothing serious. "At least that is my experience," he added awkwardly.

"This is not what I want my children to grow up like," Madame Buquet stated firmly, looking Erik straight in the eyes, causing him to turn away awkwardly.

"But business runs well," Gontier cut in. He hated women to become so tearful. Why couldn't females keep a straight face and swallow their feelings like men did?

"Yes it does," Erik confirmed bitterly, "Better than I thought it would. But this is not due to the fact that I have unique craftsmanship to offer - no, I think many of the customers would pay ridiculous high prices just for the thrill of having tea with a murderer. The upper class reads newspapers and they think they know who I am - a criminal mastermind who tricked his way out of jail."

Gontier cocked his head and thought about it. "Maybe you should consider making a business of that," he suggested, "Getting paid for attending to a party."

"No!" Erik exclaimed horrified, "Never!"

"Gontier, you are my friend and I trust you. If you tell me these people are decent people working for you I have no problem with them. But... we have to do something about the complaints of the other tenants. I can't ignore that," the landlord said.

Gontier sighted. "I understand, my friend, business is business. Just give me time to find a new..."

" **NO**!" Erik shouted and slammed his fist at the counter, "I won't run. I will not allow them to drive me away by attacking small children. I won't!"

"Then what are you going to do?" Gontier asked, "And please spare us your jokes about killing them all."

"I have no idea," Erik admitted, "But if you give me a chance, I will try my best. All I ask for is some time to think."

"No rash actions," Gontier sternly demanded, "And nothing without consulting Dr. Benevole and Clemenceau first."

The landlord raised his eyebrows and gave his friend Gontier a very suspicious glance. Why would the masked man - who had been presented to him as a honorable man who had done nothing wrong and just had the misfortune of having to live with a mask due to an accident - have to consult a doctor and a magistrate before doing anything? He would have to demand some answers from his friend.

Erik clenched his teeth. He hated being treated like a child who had to ask his guardians permission for each and every step in his life and he hated all the more that he knew that Gontier was right in this. He could easily make things worse, so he would ask the doctor, but only the doctor.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik is rejected by the better society again. It was to be expected, but what he did not think about was that others would be rejected too._

 _Please review. Have a nice weekend. I'm going to post the next chapter next week._


	37. Not Alone

**Education of the Heart**

 **Not Alone**

Erik sat in Dr. Benevole's office. He had just told the doctor about their current problems, but he could not bring himself to admit that the had no idea what to do. Instead he told the doctor he wanted to discuss different options.

"It was easier to defend myself in the Slums," Erik sighed, "People there attacked my physically and I could defend myself."

"I saw the bruises," the doctor answered.

Erik nodded. "Even I can't win every time," he confirmed, "But it was easier to defend myself and make sure they would not do it again."

"But you did not kill anyone, did you?" the doctor asked alarmed. He shuddered as he suddenly realized that Erik might have murdered the men who had beaten him up.

Erik looked at the doctor, highly amused. "Do you really expect me to be so stupid? Even in the slums a murder would not go unnoticed by police. No, I did not kill. But I might have injured some men in self-defense," he answered. He did not tell what exactly he had done. No murder, certainly not, but he had injured and threatened men and yes, he had caused some accidents. A man with a broken leg wouldn't be able to hurt him again too soon and one of the worst perpetrators had lost an eye. "I have a few ideas, but I'm not sure which one would work best," Erik went on after a few minutes.

"Care to tell me?" the doctor asked.

"More sweets?" Dede interrupted them, the three men looking at them hopefully. They knew the doctor could always send someone for another box of chocolates or another cake. They really loved Sundays for they got so many sweets. With a sigh the doctor took out a box of chocolates from a drawer and handed it to Dede.

"Share and share alike!" Erik commanded sternly, much to the doctor's surprise. Teaching had improved Erik's ideas about rules and social behavior very much.

"Always fair," Dede answered innocently.

"No fair. This is bigger," Jules complained. Obviously the pieces of chocolate were not the same size.

"Do you have a ruler?" Erik asked and the doctor handed him one, Erik gave it to Rene who stared taking the measures of the pieces of chocolate to make sure everyone got the same. Erik took the letter balance from the doctor's desk and handed it to Dede. "It is not just about size. It is the weight that counts with food. Here - and be careful!" Dr. Benevole rolled his eyes. He would have to get a new letter balance or all his letters would come with blotches of chocolate.

"I thought about placing some of my watches in the rooms of some children and then call the police to report theft. This should be enough to ensure these kids are no longer..." Erik started.

"No. You already pulled that stunt once and in case you do not know: What you are suggesting is a crime. Did you forget so soon that I did not declare you cured? And if your first idea is always a crime I can't. Sorry. It would be too dangerous. Did you even consider that you could destroy the future of these children?" the doctor berated Erik.

Erik's eyes widened. He really had not thought about that. "They are bullies, they deserve..." he started to defend himself but was interrupted.

"They are **children**. Of course it is not right what they are doing but what you are suggesting is defamation," the doctor went on, "And you, who always complain that you are a victim of defamation, should know better than to resort to such methods."

Erik was furious, his eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips together. The doctor knew his patient was about to lose his temper, but somehow Erik's stance changed after a few moments and his eyes were filled with sadness. "So what do you suggest?" he asked, "Shall we just allow them to chase us away? Give in, let them win?"

"I understand that this is difficult, but defamation is no solution. If these children really abuse the Buquet children in such a way, maybe we can open their parent's eyes. Then we might be able to find a solution," the doctor suggested.

"Sounds far easier than it is. Do you really think **anyone** would talk to **me**? Are you sure this wouldn't just **make everything worse**?" Erik complained.

"Since you are the one they fear the most, I think you should not face them alone or you would only confirm their believes that you are a dangerous madman if you lose your temper. I think the landlord should ask for a meeting of all tenants. If this does not help you will have to move, in this you are right," the doctor said, "Sometimes there is no solution for a problem other than to give in."

"As if it would be different in another neighborhood," Erik sighed, "So you do tell me there is no hope."

"That is not what I said! You should at least try to show them that you are not the monster they believe you to be," the doctor advised, "Try to be polite and friendly and helpful. If only some people stop hating you, maybe you can stay there."

Erik shook his head slightly. "I wish I had your optimism," he whispered, "I better tell Gontier that we have to look for another shop."

* * *

The doctor decided that he would talk to Clemenceau. The magistrate was more than annoyed to get at least two complaints about Erik Morriere and the Buquet children each week. He had been there himself, he had send policemen, even detectives, to watch them - not one of the complaints was true. The children went to school and came home and did not leave the flat one moment as if they were hiding to avoid trouble. Erik as well was more or less locking himself up in his workshop, only leaving it to go shopping or fetch some materials from the garbage collection.

Clemenceau had a rather long list of complaints, all of them not true. Erik was not the boss of a gang of thieves or beggars with the children as his helpers. Surely not. No drug smuggling, no weapons, no burglary, no vandalism, no blackmail, no kidnapping and certainly no sexual harassment. Even the complains about the noise were not true - the watchmaker workshop was much less noisy than the shoemaker who had been there before. But he had one policeman who seemed to get along with Erik. It was an old man who had a severe disfigurement himself for he had been wounded in the siege of Paris. This policeman was the one to investigate each and every complain about Erik Morriere - and they got along quite well.

The doctor was surprised. Erik had not told him anything about that.

"Claude Meunier is a good policeman," Clemenceau said, "I suggest you ask him about the situation there."

* * *

Dr. Benevole went to see Meunier. He was a short man with spidery arms and legs but a huge belly. Yes, he looked a bit spidery with his round torso and the thin arms and legs. He had lost one eye and there was a severe scar from the ear to the shoulder. He was not disfigured as badly as Erik, but his scars were enough to make people stare. But his police uniform and rank - he was one of the commanding police officers - protected him from most unpleasant encounters. Of course it helped that he had been living in this neighborhood since he was born and everyone knew he was a hero of the war.

When Dr. Benevole asked at the police station for Meunier he was told that this officer had to investigate another complaint about the masked freak. Obviously "Masked Freak" was the nickname Erik had acquired now. Dr. Benevole shook his head. This was not good.

When he came closer to the shop he could hear some people yelling at each other. He hurried to go there and found Madame Buquet and two other women quarreling about which child had started the fight, for now the youngest girl, Claire Buquet, had lost two teeth. Unfortunatley they were adult teeth and not milk teeth and they were the two upper incisor teeth. It had been too much for Madame Buquet and she had slapped the other children and now the three mothers took out the fight that had started between their children.

"Stop this! **NOW**!" the policeman interrupted them before the women could start a real fight, "Stop it now or the three of you spend the night cleaning and drying police uniforms. Now everyone goes to her flat and stays there - I'll have a stern word with your husbands!"

"If you plan to visit the graveyard, would you mind taking a bunch of flowers with you?" Madame Buquet inquired angrily, she hated being reminded of being a widow having no guardian, the only man who cared for her being the murderer or her beloved husband. Dr. Benevole couldn't help the feeling that the woman might have learned these dry commends from Erik.

When the women were gone the doctor turned to the policeman. "Monsieur Meunier?"

"Yes? O, I think I know who you are. Baron Doctor Thomas de Benevole, right? Welcome to my neighborhood. I've heard so much good about you..." the policeman jovially greeted him, "Shall we visit our favorite masked madman?"

* * *

They entered the small shop where Madame Buquet was busy comforting her daughter. Dr. Benevole stopped to check on the girl. The stumps of the teeth would have to be extracted or the girl would suffer much pain.

"And how am I going to pay for that?" Madame Buquet sighed, "My poor girl will suffer from this for her lifetime."

"It's only two teeth, she's not the only woman with missing teeth," Dr. Benevole tried to comfort her.

"What is this now?" A hidden door between the shelves opened and Erik appeared, he wore his working clothes and had his sleeves rolled up. He looked annoyed but when he saw the girl with the blood running from her lips a short shocked expression showed in his face before he took a neutral expression. "She needs help," he decided, "Take whatever money you need from the shops cash desk and I'll arrange that matter with Gontier."

Madame Buquet nodded and took some money from the shop's cash desk and left with her daughter.

Erik let out a sigh and turned towards the policeman: "And what are they complaining about now? Have I stolen, kidnapped, killed, raped, smuggled or whatever?"

"Actually they think you lure children into your shop to abuse them," Meunier told him, "The usual."

"Yes, and I have a dungeon in the cellar where I keep them prisoner," Erik sighed, "Really, Claude, do you think I would be that stupid? Come in and have a drink with us. You too doctor, maybe you find that imaginary dungeon of mine for I can't. This block of flats has a cellar, any every shop has a storeroom down there, but there are only goods for the shop, nothing else."

Dr. Benevole followed the two other men to the workshop. The workshop was just one large room and the main part was living space. There were bunk beds for four men, a table and four chairs, a stove and two cupboards. On a clothesline near the stove were some shirts.

The workshop was just one really large desk and a good chair plus some sort of treadmill that was connected to light bulbs. The doctor recognized this construction, obviously Erik had made himself at home here. And there was a small upright piano in a corner. Erik opened one of the cupboards and asked: "Water, tea, wine or beer?"

"Beer for me, thank you," Claude answered and Erik got two bottles from the cupboard.

"You have a very bad influence on me," Erik complained teasingly, "You absolutely spoil my tastes. Was it the best champagne only one year ago I am now starting to develop a taste for beer. Claude, if you continue like this I'll start singing popular tunes."

Dr. Benevole could not keep silent: "Erik, wasn't there a rule against alcohol?"

"Yes, there is - and I just got the permission of the police to drink," Erik winked at the doctor in amusement, "O, Claude, about your umbrella - I included a watch, a spyglass and a gun. But I really can't include a bottle too - well, maybe a small one, in the handle, but it will contain no more than one or two shot glasses of liquid."

"I love you," Claude answered grinning happily.

"Dede, Rene, Jules - take care of the shop. If a customer comes in, call me!" Erik ordered. The three men disappeared to the shop. Erik shrugged as he explained: "They are playing shopkeepers now. Usually Jules has to be the customer for he's the worst one in maths."

* * *

It was a lengthy discussion and finally they had agreed on some strategy. Since the policeman was convinced that all complaints about Erik were wrong - especially the rumors about him kidnapping girls and holding them prisoner in a dungeon in the catacombs - he would try to talk to the men in this block of flats. "A little less papers to fill in the police office would be nice," he said, his eyes sparkling.

The doctor was not entirely convinced that especially this rumor was really without any reason. He knew what Erik had done to Christine and he did not like how these two men were making fun of this. It was certainly not funny, it was creepy, especially how Erik reacted - he really pretended to have forgotten everything.

"You seem to get along quite well," the doctor said.

Erik laughed. "Yes, since he first arrested me and at the same time there were two more complaints about me - but I had the perfect alibi, he had been interrogating me quite roughly the entire morning! Without him I would be back in prison by now. So I got away with some bruises and a cracked rib. You surely have a hell of a kick with those thin legs." He did sound highly amused despite the gruesome story he told. Surely it had been horrible to be beaten by policemen to get him to confess to something he had not done. The doctor made a mental note to ask Erik about details sometimes.

"He's the dirtiest scum in this city, I am absolutely sure of that. But I know Gontier - the old scoundrel has a taste for trash. You know what belongs to this masked crook here? Nothing. Everything is Gontier's, so in case of a garnishment nothing is his - I suspect he'd claim even his underwear belongs to someone else - but whatever deal he has with Gontier, Erik lives quite comfortably with 'close to nothing'," Claude laughed, "And I, poor honest police officer that I am, have to pay my debts and, much worse, taxes. Cheers."

"Not that you would ever pay that special detective's umbrella..." Erik reminded him, "Such a shame I can't include a phonograph, that would be perfect for observation."

* * *

Finally it was agreed that the policeman would organize a little meeting between Erik and the most important people of this block of flats, the landlord and Gontier. The doctor would be there, pretending to be Erik's friend, for if anyone knew what was really going on - Erik being a man officially declared criminally insane on parole - the police officer was sure they would try to lynch Erik.

"I've seen such things before," Claude explained, "If one has such a bad reputation - even if he's much worse than his reputation as a matter of fact - it is a great risk. No one will ever like you, but maybe they stop their children from mistreating these poor half-orphans. Not that you wouldn't deserve to be lynched and disposed off in the liquid manure pit."

"You really love me, don't you?" Erik shot back, highly amused. Obviously he was not offended by this policeman's teasing.

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 _Erik has found a friend. Well, sort of. At least he is no longer alone but has people who are willing to help him. I'm not sure if I can update again this week, please be patient. And maybe you leave a review?_


	38. Confrontation: Neighbors

**Education of the Heart**

 **Confrontation: Neighbors**

It was the 23rd December, a very cold day. Only the atmosphere in the police station's conference room was far icier. On one side of the table sat the tenants of the block of flats - the teacher, the coiffeur and the chemist from the third floor, the archeologist, the retired officer and the tax advisor from the second floor and the three tenants of the first floor: another teacher, a policeman and a doctor. The doctor was the only female - an old widow with two grown up sons who lived somewhere else.

Not the only female in the room, because Madame Buquet was there too, but the only female tenant. The shopkeeper's flat had been rented by Gontier like the shop and the workshop. She was sitting at the other side with Gontier and Erik. The landlord and the policeman had the positions on the small sides of the table. Dr. Benevole - who had been introduced as Erik's and Gontier's friend - stayed in the background.

"It is only two days before Christmas," Claude Meunier began, "And my men and I are fed up with filling forms and writing reports for nothing at all. Can't you just get along with each other?" Dr. Benevole bit his lips to keep himself from telling the policeman that this would get him nowhere. In that he was right, for there was no answer only icy silence.

"Our children are scared," the teacher from the third floor began, "These people are bad company."

"There has been not one crime committed by them," the policeman replied, "So why do you think they are bad company?"

"Just look at them!" the coiffeur exclaimed, "Their very appearance tells everything."

Madame Buquet wore a plain black dress. It had been patched here and there, but it was clean. Erik wore a dark brown suit and a beige mask along with a chocolate brown hat. Brown and beige was less intimidating than black and white. His suit was clearly second hand and worn at the sleeves but clean.

"They are from the slums," the teacher from the third floor stated, "And we all know that all women in the slums are whores and all men thieves and robbers."

"Really?" Gontier snapped, "I am deeply offended. I am an honest businessman."

"She has children but no husband," the teacher from the first floor said, "She lives together with three idiots and a madman wearing a mask and hiding himself all day long - which honest woman would ever do that?"

"You stupid **bastard**! What do you **know**? **Nothing**!" Erik yelled and jumped to his feet so suddenly his chair fell backwards as he leaned over the table, "What do you know of her? Nothing! She is an honest, hard-working woman who sacrifices everything for her children. And her children are all well educated and decent, they are good children, they do not deserve what your children do to them. Yes, **your** children! Your decent, good children, they are the criminals responsible for the vandalism in the neighborhood - and for defamation because they falsely accuse the Buquet children!" He left his place and started pacing the room, gesticulating with his arms and hands. "The youngest girl lost two incisor teeth, she'll have that flaw in her beauty for all her life, not considering the pain. And do you know who did this?"

Erik turned towards the chemist and pointed to him accusingly. "Your son, who is three years older than her, he hit her with a stick in the face! No, you say nothing, now it is my time to say something. Madame Buquet is too decent to even defend herself, but I am not. I won't keep quiet when you and your children commit one crime after the other!"

Dr. Benevole clasped one hand over his mouth to keep himself from screaming at Erik. Surely Erik was the last one who had any right to talk like this. But to the doctor it was obvious what Erik was doing - he was confronting them with their misdeeds as the doctor had done it with him, and he was doing quite a good job, his voice and the way he was speaking made him a very good speaker.

"Madame Buquet is a decent, hard-working widow. She has no husband because he had been **viciously murdered**." Dr. Benevole noticed that Erik did not give them the full story. Erik went on with much passion in his voice: "As you know, she has a crippled right hand - who would hire her? Her husband dead, five children, no income - what could she do? She had to live in the slums because she was poor. Because no one cared, no one gave her a chance but even with only one hand she can do good work." Erik stopped for a moment, breathing heavily, struggling to catch his breath. The people on the other side of the table watched him, some of them moved by what he said, but not all of them.

"So if she has to wear an old dress, it is because she would give everything to pay the school fees. Do you know how much that is for four children if one does not have a comfortable income like you do? Her income is only one-tenths as high as yours and if I would not help her she would be all alone. What do you expect her to do? Leave me and watch her children starve?"

He turned round to look at Madame Buquet who was staring at him open-mouthed. "Before you jump to conclusions: No, there is nothing indecent between us. She'd never stoop so low." He turned round. "The three men you call idiots are my assistants. The more time I have to spend with you so-called honorable men and all your petty fears and hatred and prejudice the more I appreciate them." He turned towards Gontier: "What do you think, Monsieur, maybe this living area is not as **decent** as we thought. It might be far below our expectations, maybe we should leave."

Clever. Really clever. Dr. Benevole silently congratulated Erik to this little speech.

"Why do you wear a mask?" the tax advisor asked.

"Because, sir, I was wounded in the siege of Paris," Erik answered, "My face is so horribly maimed no one can endure to look at it," Erik answered and if Dr. Benevole hadn't known this to be a lie he would have believed every word. Erik was a brilliant liar, he told the lie in the same way he would tell the truth - no, actually the other way round. When Erik said the truth he usually seemed to be uncomfortable, when he was shamelessly lying he seemed to be at peace with himself and the world.

The retired officer nodded. He knew many men had suffered severe wounds during the war and later during the time the Commune ruled Paris. Claude Meunier nodded and pointed to his own scars. Suddenly a very depressing silence filled the room. Everyone was thinking if he had done something wrong.

"My children won't do something like that," the teacher from the third floor stated.

"Your children were the worst," Madame Buquet finally spoke up, "While mine hid themselves in the flat, yours committed the vandalism." She felt much stronger now that she was sure Erik was protecting her. An odd feeling, having the monster being her guardian now.

"How **dare** you?" the teacher demanded.

"How dare **you**?" Erik stepped between them, "How many times did you commit defamation against me? If I sue you now, you face trial for defamation - you want that?"

"Every time I reported to the police I had very good reason. I have seen you **luring little girls** into your workshop!" the teacher stated.

"What girls? The Buquet girls **live** there! You enter the flat and the workshop both through the shop! How else are they supposed to go home?" Erik defended himself, "And last time you reported me for abducting a girl I was at the police station being interrogated for kidnapping a woman and holding her prisoner in the cellar. What I actually have in the cellar is a **puppet**! A life-size puppet one of my customers ordered!"

"Yes, that's true," the policeman stated, "We searched the workshop and the cellar. He really has this life-size puppet - it's not finished, but it looks very realistic."

The teacher was silent for a moment. Then he said: "The accusations against my children are wrong. No child of mine would ever do this!"

"We won't solve this problem now," the policeman sighed, "But I want you to keep a very close eye on your children and stop accusing others without having any reliable witnesses. I do not count small children as reliable witnesses. Agreed?"

The tenants left, one by one, not one of them saying a word. They had much to think about, but they still felt themselves above apologizing to such people far beneath their social status.

The female doctor was the last one to leave. She got up with some difficulty, grabbed her walking cane and moved with tiny steps toward the door. When she was closest to Erik, she gave him a smile and asked: "Nice little speech, **Phantom** , but you did not tell us that it was **you** who murdered the stagehand."

Erik paled visibly and his hands trembled slightly. How had this woman recognized him? He had always covered all of his face when he had allowed anyone except Christine to see him.

The female doctor brushed back a grey lock of her hair, still smiling, and shrugged: "My son is cellist at the Opera Populaire. Don't you think I would recognize the Phantom when I see him or **hear his really distinctive voice**?"

"Why didn't you say anything?" Erik gasped.

"It is really fascinating to observe your acting. You are very good in manipulating, but today did cost you much, didn't it? You were very nervous for days. I have the flat directly above your workshop, I hear you playing the piano," she told him, still smiling.

"Knowing who I am, aren't you scared?" Erik asked, not sure what to make of this. He looked like he might be sick.

The old woman laughed. "Certainly not. I am no young soprano, so I am neither your love interest nor the rival of your love interest. I might be just a woman, but I am a medical doctor myself and my doctor's office is still open. By the way, nice job what you are doing with your three mongoloid friends - I've seldom seen such progress."

Erik was speechless. From what he knew he had always thought that this woman had been a doctor's wife, she certainly looked rather like a plain, dull-witted woman, certainly not like a doctor who would figure him out effortlessly.

The old woman turned to Dr. Benevole, friendly offering her hand: "You must be Dr. Benevole, the man who thinks he can cure criminality. Good luck, my dear colleague, you'll need it with this gifted liar." She winked at Erik and turned to leave.

Erik sank onto a chair, leaning his elbows at the table, massaging his temples. He had completely underestimated that woman and was suddenly afraid of what else she might have found out about him until now.

"Wounded in war?" Gontier said, crossing his arms, "Nice try, Erik, but this is the fifth version of why you are wearing a mask I hear from your own lips."

"I thought he was born with some deformity?" Dr. Benevole asked, not sure any more if Erik had told him the truth.

"Yes," Erik confirmed, "I was born like this."

"Sixth version," Gontier dryly commended.

Meunier laughed. "This really is the most mendacious charlatan I ever met in my whole career! I think you deserved every hard time I gave you!"

Erik winced. This was certainly not going the way he had hoped it would - and the landlord was still there.

"Gontier, is it true? This man is the one who terrorized the Opera?" the landlord asked nervously, "You told me he was an honest workman!"

Gontier shrugged, grinning sheepishly. "He has not been sentenced, so..." he spread his hands meaningful.

"You deceiving snake!" the landlord accused his friend, "I should have known better than to trust an 'honest businessman' like you! How did you say? 'Friendship is good, but business is business.' I just hope he tampers with the slush funds of yours!"He shook his head and murmured to himself: "He really got me with his little speech. I was about to believe him. Filthy bastard!"

Dr. Benevole knew this was suddenly turning the wrong way again. "Please, don't be too angry with your friend. Erik Morriere is no longer dangerous. He has been mentally ill but he is almost cured now - he might be eccentric and hard to deal with but I am sure he wouldn't harm anyone, well, except in self-defense."

"It would be more comforting if you hadn't said ' **almost** '," Erik commended, "Can we please end this now?" He was running out of options now that his identity had been revealed.

"It'll be on **your** head!" the landlord snapped at Gontier, "If any of the rumors about him are true, I'll name you as his accomplice first!"

"None of them are," Meunier cut in, "I have investigated every complain to the police concerning him. He certainly did nothing wrong. I know it is hard to believe, at first I just arrested him and interrogated him, but when someone told the police he had kidnapped a girl while in fact I was interrogating him I knew it could not be true."

The landlord rolled his eyes: "You are taking a tremendous risk here and seem to be completely unaware of that. I'm happy I do only own this block of flats and do not live here."

"But you won't tell them...?" Erik asked nervously.

The landlord shook his head. "Having a lynch mob is bad for business if you want to collect rent. But you, my friend Gontier, I'll hold you responsible for everything he does!"

"By all means," Gontier replied cheerfully, "He does a good job, I am happy with this business enterprise."

When all of them left the police station, Erik allowed himself to lean against a wall for a moment and took a deep breath. Dr. Benevole noticed the way Erik closed his eyes and hid his masked face in his hands.

"Are you not well?" he asked.

"This was... so damn close," Erik answered, shuddering, "I expected to be forced to run today."

Dr. Benevole decided he would accompany Erik home, just to make sure there would not be any unpleasant encounters. Much to his surprise Erik accepted gratefully.

When they came to the shop, Dr. Benevole noticed the complicated system of different locks at the door. "I don't like burglars," Erik stated. The a hidden door in the counter opened when Erik touched a certain spot with his toecap. "Madame Buquet has only one hand - so I build this so she can open it with a touch of her shoe," Erik explained as if this was just the most natural thing to do. Maybe it was, considering Erik's talent for inventing things.

Another hidden button opened the secret door in the shelf that lead to the small corridor. To the right was the door to the small shopkeeper's flat and two more doors lead to the bathroom and the toilet the flat shared with the workshop which was to the left.

Erik opened the door with a sigh and braced himself for the passionate greeting of his three friends who insisted on hugging him as if he had just returned from a very long journey. He pushed them into the room and told them to go to bed. They obediently climbed into their beds as Erik lit the candles and fired the stove to prepare hot milk with a bit honey for all of them.

"No beer tonight?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"Certainly not! I hate beer!" Erik replied, "I only drink that horrible stuff with the police!" He shuddered slightly with disgust at the mere thought of having to drink more beer. The doctor noticed just how well developed Erik's skills in manipulating people were. Erik would even pretend to like drinking with them whatever they liked, just to pretend they had something in common, to fit in somehow. This was a good sign, but on the long run it was a high risk to be always acting.

"That policeman, Claude Meunier, and that interrogation you mentioned," Dr. Benevole began, "You never told me anything about that."

Erik took the cups of milk and handed one to each of his friend before he took one for himself and placed one on the table for the doctor. The masked man sat down with a sigh, slightly slumped in his chair. He was tired and did not want to discuss this matter just now. "Why should I?" he asked defiantly.

"Maybe because I am your psychiatrist?" the doctor suggested angrily. These were exactly the things he needed to know.

"We could have had chocolate!" Dede complained, obviously angry that Erik had left out an opportunity to get chocolate for free. As if the only reason to see the doctor was chocolate.

Erik silenced his friends with a glare, then turned to the doctor: "Allright. I could not risk it being in any official report. Promise you won't tell anyone?" When the doctor nodded, Erik went on: "Meunier believed the rumors about me abducting and abusing little girls and arrested me for interrogation. He wanted me to confess, I refused and so I ended up on the floor, being kicked by three policemen. They would have forced me to confess, if not at that moment another complaint about me abducting a girl just that moment had come in. Even the police couldn't believe that I would be kidnapping a girl while lying on the floor in their police station. Meunier apologized and was suddenly afraid I might report him for mistreating me. When I showed much sympathy for their dislike of child abuse and promised not to tell anyone he was... let's say, thankful. When they had to search the workshop again and again for stolen goods or drugs or whatever I offered to build him a special umbrella for his hard work as a police officer."

"You were hurt?" Dr. Benevole asked.

Erik nodded, absently playing with a spoon. "Not too bad. Cracked ribs, bruises, cuts - the usual. You did not think policemen were better than the rest, did you? They eagerly believed every rumor for they already mistrusted me." He shook his head. "If I hadn't been lucky they would have beaten me into submission - literally - and I'm sure Clemenceau would have my head - again literally - for child abuse." Erik took a sip of his hot milk and stared into the flame of the candle.

Dr. Benevole did not know what to say. If there had been a police report stating Erik had kidnapped a girl and confessed this crime - would he himself have had any doubts? Or would he believe the police? This was something he would have a hard time analyzing.

Erik made a point in checking all watches he could find now, then playfully berated the watches and clocks: "O you bad watches! Chasing away my dear guest!" He chuckled: "No offense."

"None taken," Dr. Benevole answered and got up, "Goodnight."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik did improve - but he's still not an honest man. Only he uses his talents now for fighting for a place in society now. With somewhat questionable methods, sometimes..._


	39. Lonely Christmas

**Education of the Heart**

 **Lonely Christmas**

The 25th of December there was a Christmas celebration at the house of the de Chagny family. It was, as every year, a rather opulent party. The house was filled with light, music, laughing, chatter and, of course, plenty of food and drinks.

Outside in the cold streets a man hid in a dark corner. He just stood there, wrapping his cloak tighter around his slender frame against the bitter cold of that winter night and the wind. At least there was no snowfall. He felt lonelier than ever before in his life. In the darkness he allowed himself to give in to his sadness and cry. No one would see him, no one would ever know of his weakness in that moment.

Suddenly he noticed another man walking the street slowly. He cursed silently and lowered his hat so his dark hat and the shawl would conceal his face and his mask, allowing him to hide in the darkness. The other man came closer and Erik - for he was the man on the street - cursed under his breath. Another drunken man on the way home from some party. Not the first one he saw that night.

Others were celebrating with their families, but he who was always alone in the darkness saw the ugly face of this holiday. He saw the children who had fled to the streets to avoid their drunken fathers who would beat them, he heard the shouting matches when families were having such a fight the people in the streets could hear. He saw too many beggars gathering round the homes of the rich, patiently waiting for the rests of food being thrown away so they would get food for free.

The other man came closer and Erik readied his lasso - just in case. If the other one would simply pass he would do nothing, but if he would attack he would be able to defend himself.

The other man came closer and Erik was tempted to run as he recognized him in the dim light of the gas-streetlights. It was Dr. Benevole. He put the lasso back in his pocket and stepped out of the shadows, startling the other man. "Don't you have anywhere to go?" Erik snapped annoyed.

The doctor recovered from his shock exceptionally soon and replied sadly: "Erik. How I had hoped I would not find you here."

"I was about to say the same," Erik retorted, not even bothering to hide his annoyance, "Have you no family to celebrate with?"

The doctor gave him a long glance, which made Erik shift on his feet uncomfortably. "No, I do not," he answered, "As you might recall I told you that the woman I loved married another man. I have siblings, but they are married and I do not want to bother them. Of course I could be at the hospital with the doctors and nurses on duty, but I'd rather check one of my patients - the one who was guaranteed to do something stupid tonight."

Erik cringed. He felt like he had been caught in the act. "I'm allowed to go for a walk," he defended himself.

"Of course," the doctor replied, "But here? The estate of the de Chagny's?"

Erik sighed. "I had no choice."

"She's here, isn't she? You hoped the noble family would reject her and you could comfort her, didn't you?" the doctor asked. The way Erik glared at him told him he was absolutely right, but Erik did not answer that, so the doctor went on: "How long have you been there?"

"Four hours," Erik answered, staring at the windows of the house.

"If she had been rejected she would already have left, don't you think?" Dr. Benevole asked sympathetic, "There is no reason to catch a cold."

"I have to know if she stays for the night or returns home," Erik stubbornly refused.

Dr. Benevole sighed deeply. This was the main issue in Erik's treatment - get the man out of his illusions about Christine Daae! It was his obsession with her that had caused his rapid fall into madness and violence. So this was a critical point now - this could cause a relapse. "What difference would this make?" he asked, "If she's accepted into this family, what difference would it make if she sleeps in a guestroom there or in her own flat?"

Erik's shoulders slumped. "Nothing at all. I just hoped... maybe..."

"You hoped for a quarrel?" the doctor said, "I'm deeply sorry, but I do not think it would happen after such a long time. I think you should go home."

Erik looked away and the doctor was sure he had seen tears glistening on the mask and on the unmasked cheek of the other man. "What for?" he whispered, nearly choking on his bitterness.

"Maybe your friends..." the doctor began, but was interrupted harshly.

"Celebrate with Gontier and his family. I told them to stay for the night, that I had another invitation where I could not take them with me," Erik snapped, "I told them I would see them in the morning, I volunteered to help with the garbage carts. They'll know soon enough when I won't show up..." The way Erik trailed off made the doctor shudder. Erik was on the verge of suicide, having lost all hope.

"You should not be alone now," Dr. Benevole said worriedly, reaching out for his patient. This had been a mistake, Erik reacted violently as if he had been attacked and before he knew what was happening the doctor found himself on the street with a rope around his neck, Erik kneeling on his chest, his eyes blazing with fury. Suddenly Erik's demeanor changed, he released the doctor and got up, offering his hand to help to other man to his feet.

"I'm a bit on edge," Erik mumbled uncomfortably, "Better not come too close."

"Is this the rope you killed Joseph Buquet with?" the doctor asked horrified.

"No. Actually this is a new one. I... I had though of hanging myself, but... Funny, I already prepared a farewell letter to Christine... it is in my left pocket. I wanted her to know... that I... **loved** her..." Suddenly Erik could no longer hold back his tears. His body shook with the painful sobs that he could hold back no longer. The doctor edged closer, slowly, ready to back away should Erik react violently again. But he did not, finally the doctor was close enough to put his hand on Erik's shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

"Come with me," the doctor offered gently.

"What? To the hospital for I am suicidal?" Erik snapped and wiped away his tears, but they kept flowing.

The doctor sighed. Erik would not accompany him to the hospital, that much was sure, but he did not dare leave the man alone now. Erik was suicidal, yes, but that could easily turn round and he could snap and attack someone. "No. Your home. And because it is such a cold night, maybe you can offer me some tea?" It was a risk, but it would be better than having Erik running round alone.

When they came to the block of flats, Erik told sadly: "All families are celebrating together. I... I could not stand it. You know what is really awful? I really got an invitation for tonight. Madame Giry. But... I know she did it because she pities me. I can't accept that. I'm not that desperate." An odd statement to claim not to be desperate enough to accept an invitation that had been made out of pity but planning suicide.

Erik led the doctor into the workshop and lit the candles. "They are at Gontier's tonight," Erik said, gesturing to the empty beds of his friends, "Sometimes I need to be alone." The doctor assumed this was a lie - Erik had already told him the real reason why he would not have them at home tonight. Dr. Benevole looked round. The room was tidy. A bit too tidy, he knew Erik had a habit of creating chaos when he was working on something.

Erik casually took off his cloak, reached for something in his pocket and used that paper to create a fire in the stove. Dr. Benevole had to suppress his natural curiosity and concentrate on his professional knowledge: if Erik burned the letter he had prepared for his suicide, it meant that he thought he would no longer need it - so the man would not kill himself tonight.

Erik prepared some tea and added a bit of sugar and rum. The doctor accepted a cup and said nothing. Erik was in despair, he did not need anyone to tell him to obey any rules now. From the flat above the workshop they could hear people singing and playing music.

"She's playing the piano," Erik informed the doctor, "The old woman is not bad. Her son is cellist at the opera, the other son playing the violin as a hobby and the daughters in law are singing, one a soprano and one an alto, both not too bad. They... are far from being adequate, but... I would give everything to have just one evening like that!" He took a sip from his cup, added more sugar and rum, and smirked: "But I would never want to trade with the retired officer's family. They too are visiting dear old grandpa - only that dear old grandpa tends to forget he's no longer a commanding officer in the army and his family members are not soldiers. He's constantly yelling at them."

"The doctor - she's a nice lady, isn't she?" Dr. Benevole tried to interrupt Erik's thoughts.

"Yes... but she's really frightening. It is as if she could see right into your brain and manipulate it," Erik admitted much to the doctor's surprise. The dreaded Phantom afraid of an old lady? Maybe because she would look through his illusions and lies - and was good in manipulating people herself to get what she wanted.

The doctor looked around and saw a puppet lying on Erik's workplace. "May I ask...?" he started.

"I'm dismantling this one," Erik told him, "The mechanism works, but I no longer like the... the looks of it."

The doctor took a closer look. The puppet had some internal mechanism he did not understand, but it had the shape of a female body and the face reminded him of a certain singer. "And what is this?" the doctor asked.

"A mechanical puppet. It can walk, if wound up, and it can turn round. That's all. But it can be fun playing with a mechanical puppet that walks a pre-set route through the room," Erik explained and pointed so something that looked like punched cards, "These I once saw in a weaving mill, with these punched cards you can make the weaving look create different fabric. I thought they might be used to tell the puppet what to do - and they work, but the puppet can only go so many steps at one time, then has to repeat the movement."

"Would make a nice attraction at a fair - a mechanical woman," the doctor commended.

"Yes," Erik tried to sound cheerful but he only sounded bitter and depressed, "Better than a real woman - she does whatever you tell her to do and never complains."

"Ingenious creation," the doctor could not help admiring Erik's work.

"Actually no. Punched cards are known since 1805," Erik shrugged, "I just use what I find."

The doctor asked: "You need not answer this, but... what is this mechanical toy for? It walks round, and? What can one do with it?" The way Erik blushed made the doctor cringe. "No. Please tell me you didn't..." the doctor asked utterly disgusted at the thought.

" **No**!" Erik defended himself, " **Not** what you think! I... learned dancing with this automaton. Practiced how do bow, how to hand over flowers, how to... serve food and drinks when the other person is moving. I would never ever do anything that disgusting like you thought! Doctor, you are spending too much time with filthy madmen, you really have very dirty fantasy!"

"And now you are dismantling this one, because...?" the doctor asked.

"A customer ordered a mechanical woman and I intend to use the mechanism, only change the appearance. He wants a red-haired which is a bit... fat. Gives me more space for the mechanism, though. And this one... I... doctor, I know you think me mad now, but... Every time I see it, I shudder in disgust at the madness that made me create an automaton looking like Christine. What kind of madman creates an automaton that looks like his beloved? Having her picture is one thing, but... I am really way too old to play with such puppets, am I not?"

Erik poured himself another cup of tea, again adding sugar and rum. The doctor did not commend on this, he had too much to think. Dr. Benevole was happy to see the progress Erik had made and how he was distancing himself from his former madness - and to the doctor the mere idea of creating an automaton as substitute for a woman was a sign of mental illness, even if Erik's claim to have used it in a very innocent way was true - but he was sure Erik still would have a long and tough way to go before he could be considered really "cured". Right now it worked because Erik did not have much freedom and there were too many people watching over him. If he was alone, the doctor was absolutely sure he would have done something criminal again. The doctor looked at Erik, who had emptied his second cup and was slumped in his chair, one elbow resting on the table, his head in his hand. Erik was relaxed, but that was the effect of the alcohol.

One could argue with this, but getting drunk was quite normal for a lovesick man. Erik's tolerance for alcohol was surprisingly low, which was a good sign, for it indicated that he had really been teetotal for a longer period of time - it confirmed his statement of having obeyed the rule prohibiting alcohol and drugs.

"You have been seeing Christine Daae, haven't you?" the doctor asked.

Erik grinned humorlessly, as he answered, his speech slightly slurred: "Of course. One lesson a week. She asked me to keep it strictly business, with me her teacher and her my pupil and we do not talk about private matters. Well, almost. It went so well, she... at first she was scared but then she started to relax around me and... sometimes it is like it had been before, but... without deception." He held up one hand as if to stop the doctor from interrupting him. "I know, all my fault, but... well... I can't help wondering if this would have turned out better if I had done this from the beginning."

Dr. Benevole nodded to himself. This was really a very good sign, Erik accepted that what he had done was completely wrong. He dared to risk another question: "She is celebrating with the de Chagnys - what if she finally decides to marry the Vicomte? What would you do?"

"Hang myself," Erik answered, as if this was the natural thing to do, "I already prepared a hook in the shop. I think it should be Madame Buquet to find my body, as some sort of... satisfaction. Maybe it will give her peace to know that the murderer of her husband died the same horrible death."

That was not good. Certainly not. "No. I think it would be a horrible shock for her - and you mustn't forget that this family is totally dependent on you. Without you, they have nothing," the doctor reminded him.

"Are you telling me that I can't even kill myself now?" Erik asked, struggling to keep his eyes open.

"Suicide is never a solution to any problem," the doctor lectured.

"Aha. But death sentence is?" Erik snapped, obviously his capacity for logic still intact to some degree, or at least his taste for a witty argument.

Dr. Benevole heaved a deep sigh and checked his watch. It was really late, but he could not leave his patient in this state. "Erik, I would really like to take you to the hospital," he said, "Just for tonight. In the morning you get breakfast and go wherever you want to."

"Yes, take the drunken madman to the hospital..." Erik mumbled, then suddenly got up in a haste and hurried to the door, "Excuse me..."

The doctor stayed where he was. He did not need to see his patient being sick, it would be enough if he cared for him later. Erik returned to the workshop after a long time, looking pale, but more sober than before. "The old crone is going to kill me tomorrow," he sighed, "But I can't clean that up tonight."

"What happened?" the doctor asked worriedly.

Erik laughed: "I confused the doors for bathroom and toilet in my haste. I'll deal with that tomorrow. Why didn't you stop me from drinking? You are my doctor, you really should care for me better!"

"And would you have appreciated my rebuke?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"Right now - yes. An hour ago? I guess not," Erik answered truthfully, "And now I am going to bed. I do not care what you do - sleep here or go home or whatever." He sat down on his bed, kicked off his boots and rolled onto his back. Dr. Benevole was not sure if he could risk leaving his patient alone now. The doctor took a deep sigh and sat down on another bed, deciding to stay.

"Tell me, doctor, don't you regret not having wife and children?" Erik asked, one arm covering his eyes.

"Sometimes. But right now I am glad I am not married."

"Why?"

"I would never have so much time for some really important things in my life," Dr. Benevole answered.

"Like being with your patient? Doctor, I think **I** should take **you** to the hospital right away. You are even more crazy than I am," Erik retorted.

The doctor smiled to himself as he started to extinguish the candles. Erik had completely forgotten about them, this could be dangerous. "One does not need a wife and a family to have a good life. I am contend knowing that I have much time for medical studies, which might help all humanity. What good could you do for humanity?"

"Hmmm? Come on, I am drunk, it is past midnight and you want me to pass a philosophical exam?" Erik chuckled, "You really need a good psychiatrist, doctor, maybe he can help you..."

Erik was more than surprised when he woke the next morning that he was not alone but Dr. Benevole sat at the table and wrote something in his notebook. He was struggling with the aftereffect of too much alcohol on an empty stomach and his memory was hazy.

"What are you doing here?" Erik grunted and blinked, the sunlight shining through the window blinding him.

"Writing my report about you making good progress," the doctor cheerfully explained, "And if you do not want Madame Buquet to scold you for the mess you made you better get up and run - you wanted to help with the garbage carts today."

Erik sat up and tried to remember what had happened the night before. When he did, he grabbed his boots and his hat in a hurry, allowing himself just enough time to check if his mask was in place. "When you leave, tell Madame Buquet I am deeply sorry..." he said and left in such a hurry, the doctor had no chance to follow him.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik is still struggling with his problems - seeing Christine being invited for Christmas by the de Chagnys is a shock. He's still not able to deal with this._


	40. Lovesickness

**Education of the Heart**

 **Lovesickness**

Dr. Benevole was very worried about Erik after Christmas. Erik went back to his life as if nothing had happened, but the doctor knew this to be just acting. He was sure Erik was devastated and needed help, but like always when Erik really needed help he started to hide and turn away from everyone who could offer help.

Erik had met Christine for one lesson a week. At first Christine had been terribly nervous, for she was afraid he might threaten her again, but when he had been nothing but a teacher to her, friendly, patient and encouraging, she had grown to trust him again, not that she would ever forget his deception or his violence, but she thought that he was no longer dangerous. In time she found she really liked him as a fatherly friend and somehow felt there could be a friendship between them, that she found the father-figure she had been longing for again.

But Erik had a very different idea about what happened. He should have listened to the doctor for he surely was not ready for a normal friendship with the girl he loved. He was falling back in his old ways - he was deceiving her, acting the part of the mentor, the fatherly friend she could tell everything and trust in every way, but that was not what he felt like. He still hoped she would fall in love with him, even if he told her the therapy worked and he was a new character now, he was not. Every time she smiled at him, they laughed together or she would offer him just a cup of tea and they would talk about everything like old friends he thought he was one tiny step closer to his dream. He knew that she loved the Vicomte more than him, but he had counted on the aristocratic de Chagny family to intervene and forbid marriage. When she told him that Raoul had invited her for Christmas, he had pretended to be happy for her - secretly counting on the family to reject her, maybe create a scene and she would leave the estate in tears.

He was not beyond reason so there was the realistic thought that if Raoul de Chagny was not utterly stupid he would not invite anyone before asking his family first and so there might be no quarrel, no scene - and no Christine running from the house in tears and right into his fatherly embrace. In this case he had thought he would end his life, but then he had waited, not willing to give up the hope there might be something - that she would come to him. What he surely would never have guessed was that the doctor would go looking for him at Christmas and then at the right place! Erik had thought he had kept his feelings for Christine secret enough to convince the doctor he would not do anything stupid.

It was painful to meet Christine after Christmas again for a singing lesson. Erik had thought about sending a letter telling he was too busy - but he could not bring himself to cancel this one precious hour a week he had with her. How much he had succeeded in winning her trust he realized only when she told him that the de Chagny family was not happy with her engagement to Raoul but would not forbid the marriage. It had broken his heart as it destroyed all hopes of her coming back to him. Not as a lover, no, he had never thought he could be her lover, he had never been that delusional and he knew how appalling his body was, but as a friend and teacher.

Erik was sitting at the piano stool at her little upright piano in her flat. He had to grab the piano to hold himself steady himself. His heart ached and he could barely breathe, his vision blurred.

"Erik? Are you allright?" Christine asked worriedly.

"Yes, yes I am," he hissed through clenched teeth, "It is nothing."

"You do not look well."

He smiled awkwardly: "When have I ever looked good? It is nothing... just... a pain in the stomach. Christmas was... I guess filled with too much sweets. I better go home now." He tried to tell her he was happy for her but he could not bring himself to tell her such a lie.

After that, their relationship had changed again. Erik had tried to reason with himself that the doctor was right and he should stop meeting her for it only caused him pain. After every of her lessons he felt ashamed for his weakness, for the way he kept up pretending to be a fatherly friend when he wanted to be so much more. We swore to himself never to see her again, but after a day his resolve weakened and the day before the lesson he was anxious and could not wait to see her. He would rush to her flat, greet her friendly and they would sing together, have tea together and talk like friends would do.

It was a bittersweet hour, Erik would in just one hour experience every emotion from utter despair, horrible pain to the most sweet happiness and, yes, love. It was like moving up and down from heaven to hell in mere seconds. He kept his facade of the fatherly friend she wanted him to be and did not allow her to see the turmoil inside. But after every lesson he would flee her, run away, hide and cry for hours, promising himself he would never go back - only to slink back like a dog with its tail between its legs the next week. And she did not even know what he was going through in just one hour that usually left him drained of all strength and in so much distress, he had to lie on his bed crying for hours before he could do anything else.

But he craved this bittersweet hour so much, he could never bring himself to stay away. It would have been so easy to tell her he had too much work, to tell her he was sick or any other lie and cancel the lesson, just once. But he could not bring himself to do that, not even when Dede, Rene and Jules, who saw him weeping for hours, they would sit at his bed, trying to comfort him, begged him not to go there for he would only come back crying.

Erik managed to function somehow. His work lacked the usual creativity, he could only bring himself to repeat the same again and again. Music boxes, clocks, watches after some construction plan he had created long ago. He barely left the workshop, he would send this friends with notes to Madame Buquet and she would send back notes what customers had ordered, if there were special orders. Erik refused to see any customers, he could not stand having to talk to anyone.

He could not fool the doctor. Dr. Benevole kept seeing him, he would come to the shop every second day to check if Erik was still alive. Erik did not say what it was that troubled him, but he could not hide his weakened state from the doctor. He explained it with normal lovesickness, hoping the doctor would fall for it and not question him further.

Life had become easier for the Buquet family, they were still treated with contempt for they did not fit in this rather uppity neighborhood, but at least they were left in peace. The children even had become friends with the female doctor from the first floor who gave them sweets and helped with their homework in exchange for carrying her bag or running some errands for her.

Erik was shunned by the other people but at least they stopped calling the police nearly every day. As long as he hid in the workshop and tried to avoid them as much as possible they left him more or less in peace, occasional complaints about him being rude or creepy or too noise aside. He ignored that, he simply did not have the strength to deal with them now. His world had become dark and hopeless and he did not want to live any more, but did not dare kill himself for there were too many people dependent on him now. He had a responsibility and he somehow felt he had to keep going even if there was no hope for himself, at least for some more years to see the children whose father he had murdered being old enough to care for themselves.

In his lessons with Christine he was no longer the fatherly friend, no matter how hard he tried, he changed to a cold and demanding teacher, stern and aloof, it was the best he could do now without telling her what he really felt - but he had accepted by now that every attempt to force her to love him would only result in driving her away farther and farther. Christine noticed his change, but did not dare question him. She knew he was not a healthy man - mentally, physically he was in quite good shape - and therefor didn't dare to ask.

"You are too tensed up. I told you to **relax**!" Erik almost roared at her when she struggled to hit the notes, "One can't sing with all muscles clenched like that!"

"I'm sorry..." Christine whispered, shivering in fear at his sudden outburst.

Erik took a deep breath, reasoning with himself that the more he yelled at her, the less she would relax. Where was her beautiful voice that effortlessly hit each and every note in an almost playful way? He run his hand through his sparse grey hair. "This won't do," he told her coldly, "If you are not willing to give everything, if you are that lazy and unwilling I better go!"

"Erik, I didn't mean..." she started to apologize.

"I **do not** want to hear any of your **pathetic** excuses!" he snapped, again acting much more like the Phantom than the teacher, "You have to decide if you want to sing or not. If you do not want, there is no reason for me to be here. Goodnight!" He fled from her before he would lose his temper completely and harm her. He was far too close to lose control of himself now.

Erik did not know where he could go now, he did not dare return to the shop and deal with his friends who would try to cheer him up - it would only make him angry now - or with Madame Buquet who was good at work but would remind him of far too many commissions he should have finished weeks ago - he did not even dare to think of what he might do to her. He knew she was right in her worries about the shop and angry customers, but he could not force creativity when he was so distraught. But of course he could not stay in the streets, where he would have to endure the stares and the mocking of normal people.

It was a very tough decision but finally he decided to go to the hospital to ask the doctor for help. He could not go on like this. Only when he stood before the front door he noticed that it had been raining and he was drenched and cold, his body shivering even if he did not really register the cold consciously.


	41. Accepting Help

**Education of the Heart**

 **Accepting Help**

Dr. Benevole was busy with a very difficult case - a man had been brought in because he had been running through the streets naked screaming that "they" would try to kill him. Whoever "they" were he could not - or would not - tell, but he had been arrested and brought to the hospital. Now that he was dressed and secured - as much as the doctor hated to have to tie his patients up, this one was in the midst of a hallucination, he had to make sure he would not hurt anyone.

Right now he was discussing with one of his colleagues if any medicine would help or if all they could do was waiting until the worst had passed, as a nurse came in, asking if he could come for "his experiment" was there, asking for him.

"He's not just 'an experiment'," Dr. Benevole scolded the nurse, "How often do I have to explain that patients are **people** and you can't just call them 'the hysteria', the 'insane' or the 'idiot' and surely **not** 'experiment'. This man has a name!"

"With all due respect for professional ethics," the other doctor interrupted, "What do we do with this one?"

"Can you manage for ten minutes? I really have to see my patient," Dr. Benevole replied and hurried to his office. If Erik came alone without his friends and without making an appointment at a normal workday something must be really urgent.

He gasped in shock when he saw Erik sitting on the corridor before his office, slumped against a wall. He was wet to the skin, he had been in the rain for hours without his coat, dressed only in his suit, hat and mask. The wet clothes stuck to his far too slim body and so the doctor noticed for the first time in weeks how much weight his patient had lost. Erik sat there, his knees drawn to his chest, his face pressed against his knees, his arms dangling beside him as if he lacked the strength to hug himself.

"Erik!" the doctor exclaimed, "Come in. We need to get you out of these wet clothing - you are already freezing." When he noticed his patient did not shiver with cold he started barking orders at the male nurses to prepare a room for the patient - he would need a room for one person only - and get him some warm clothing. "He needs a hot soup and something to drink, some fruit juice would be best, give him fresh apple juice."

Erik did not show much reaction as the doctor helped him up and dragged him to the corridor with the rooms for patients. Only when he was seated on a chair in the small room he looked at the doctor and said: "I can't go on like this."

"What happened?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"Christine... I... she's..." he gesticulated helplessly, but then coughed.

The doctor took Erik's wrist to check his pulse and noticed that the pulse was far too slow and the skin too cold. "You are already ill," he gently scolded, "Now, get out of your wet clothing and into the bed." Erik asked to be left alone to change his clothing - a very good sign for Erik still cared about his dignity. If he had been immune to the natural feeling of shame at the prospect to undress before another man it would be far worse.

Within a few hours Erik had run up high fever and bronchitis. Small wonder, after he had been in the cold rain for hours. Dr. Benevole sat at his bed and tried to talk him into drinking something and eating soup - not an easy job. He had decided against using force, trying to reason, but it was difficult with Erik's current state of mind.

Erik reluctantly admitted that he had made a mistake, that he had been giving Christine lessons again and convinced himself against better knowledge that - with enough time and patience - she would come back to him. "I am such a fool," Erik cried, "I deceived myself even more than I deceived her - again. I tried to stop, you have to believe me, it is true - I tried to stop and could not. I knew it was wrong and brought nothing but even more pain but... I could not tell her good-by."

"O Erik," the doctor sighed as his patient had to stop speaking for he coughed again, "That is **exactly** what I told you. Your own stubbornness did this to you - but you never believed me, did you? You thought you were cleverer than everyone else and needed no help from no one and of course could ignore my advise."

Erik shook his head with a tired smile and answered: "But that was what you expected from the beginning, didn't you? I secretly **read your notes** , doctor, I **know** that you wrote down _'he's going to fight us every step of the way and this will cause him severe pain'_ \- I was convinced that you were wrong. I thought I knew better than anyone else and your theories would apply to normal men - but not to me. I was wrong."

Dr. Benevole nodded, not sure how to react to this statement. "You should try to rest now," he said.

"Can you give me..." again Erik coughed, "...something?"

"No. Laudanum influences the breathing - with a bronchitis this would be a high risk."

Much to the doctor's surprise Erik just begged: "Leave me alone, please."

* * *

In the night a very nervous care-worker came to wake Dr. Benevole and asked him to come with him. "Please come quickly," the care worker asked as the doctor drowsily opened the door a bit, "Your experiment... um, sorry, the patient with the mask - three idiots came to see him and they brought a... the porter says a **panther** with them..."

Dr. Benevole decided to get dressed and try to control his own anger before he would go there. Of course. Erik's three mongoloid friends had been worried and decided to find out where he was. And, like they had done before, they had brought that terrible cat from the dumping grounds with them.

A rather nervous porter told the doctor that the three idiots had a panther with them.

"A panther!" the doctor snorted, "This is just a **cat** , you..." He bit his tongue to stop himself from insulting the man.

When he reached the corridor where Erik had been given a room, he saw three very nervous nurses who had been on duty for the night. The doctor pushed past them and knocked at the door to Erik's room, careful not to upset the man more than necessary.

"Come in," Erik answered, his voice clearly affected by his illness.

As it was to be expected the doctor saw Erik's three friends sitting on the floor beside his bed, the large ugly cat on the bed at his feet and two fluffy, cute kitten on Erik's lap, both purring happily as he gently caressed their tiny heads.

"Needs **cuddly kitten** ," Dede almost accusingly told the doctor - as if he was a doctor scolding his colleague for forgetting an important part of the treatment.

"I'm sorry I forgot about them," Erik apologized, "They were worried about me and came here."

"How did they find you?" the doctor asked. Surely they would not be able to read the plan where which patient was?

"I heard the porter scream as Dede pushed the cat at him," Erik answered with an amused smile, "and I recognized the cat's voice. So I just took them here."

"Cuddly Kitten made two more cuddly kitten," Rene happily explained, pointing to the fluffy furballs.

Erik coughed. "I'm sorry. I better get dressed and go home before they cause more trouble."

"Your clothes aren't dried yet," the doctor said, "But I can ask the nurse to see in the storerooms if we have some clothes that might fit you. But... to be true, I'd prefer you to stay here."

Erik shook his head, then sneezed and told the doctor: "I have to go. I've been... neglecting my duties far too long. Gontier will be unhappy with the loss in the last weeks, but... maybe I can persuade him not to close down the shop. Too many people depend on me now, I... I have to go."

"But you stay inside the house and in bed as much as possible," the doctor told him.

"Of course," Erik answered with a smile, "I can't let them down. And now I have two baby cats to look after."

"Can we keep them?" Rene begged.

"No. Cats in a watchmaker's workshop? **Certainly not**. But we'll find a good place for them, when they do not need their mother any longer," Erik answered and something in his voice told the doctor that his patient was over the worst.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_


	42. Confrontation: Piangi

**Education of the Heart**

 **Confrontation: Ubaldo Piangi**

Dr. Benevole had to visit Erik each day now to make sure he was getting better. The doctor had found new allies - Erik's three friends. They understood when he told them to make sure Erik stayed in bed at least 16 hours a day and eat three nourishing meals a day. They dutifully reminded Erik of his duties so he would get better and eagerly informed the doctor about every happening, obviously considering themselves as the doctor's assistents now. Erik allowed them to play nurses, actually enjoying the fact that finally someone cared about him.

He had been right about Gontier being very upset about the loss of the last weeks due to Erik's inability to work on the commissions. Gontier told Erik plainly: "I don't care if there is no profit, but if there is a loss, I'll close it down. With the profit from December I'm even now - so one more week without you working, meeting with customers and finally finishing at least some of the commissions I close this shop down and it is back to the garbage cart for you and your friends."

"Not be angry," Dede intervened, "Erik's ill."

Gontier and Erik looked at each other. They knew that Dede and his friends perceived them as a family who cared for each other. But they were not. They were more or less weird business partners and even as they liked each other both knew that Gontier would not risk a loss just to make Erik happy. Certainly not. He was a business man and Erik highly appreciated that he was not treated like the poor cripple living on charity but like another employee - even if it was hard sometimes.

Since some customers had angrily cancelled their commissions when Erik had failed to finish them in time, there was no denying a customer when one came in. Madame Buquet had strict orders from Gontier not to allow Erik to hide from customers. If Erik wanted to run a business, he could not hide in the workshop and rather turn customers down than talk with them.

Dr. Benevole noticed that it was very hard for Erik to accept that. As good as he was in pretending and acting, it certainly took its toll on him and he sometimes could not go through one normal conversation without returning to his workshop to escape the stress of having to pretend to be the normal businessman. But he did in in a very subtle way, he had everything in his workshop and sometimes excused himself to get his notebook to look up when he would have time to do the work or fetch an already finished music box, clock or watch to show it to the customer, asking if this item matched the wishes of the customer. He took his time having to find things - which helped him to calm down enough to be able to keep up his act. But if Erik ever wanted to find some place in a civilized society he needed to be able to keep up a normal conversation.

His standing in the neighborhood was not easy. People still did mistrust him, stare at him, point with their fingers and talk behind his back. Some avoided him, some openly showed him how much they dispised him, he even had to endure being pushed aside by certain men when they accidentaly met. Erik tried to avoid these situations for he barely could control his instinctive reaction to defend himself.

It was a warm sunny day when Madame Buquet informed Erik that there was a customer who insisted talking to him. Erik told his three friends to stay in the workshop and wait for him before he went to the shop. Madame Buquet went back to her flat for she was busy doing the laundry. On a chair he saw the unmistakeable shape of the Opera Populaire's leading tenor Ubaldo Piangi.

What could he do now? Tell the man to go away? Run away himself? Erik's thoughts raced, but he did not really find a solution to his problem. It solved itself because Piangi spotted him and got up to greet him. Now there was no way of avoiding this.

"Good day, Monsieur Morriere," Piangi greeted and offered his hand. Erik was speechless. He had expected the man to mock him, to verbally abuse him as Carlotta had done, not to offer his hand.

"Monsieur Piangi," Erik answered with a nod, but refused to come closer, close enough to shake hands, "What can I do for you?" In his mind he repeated again and again: "Keep this strictly business. He's just another customer looking for a nice trinket."

"I've come here to..." Piangi began, then looked around awkwardly, obviously redeciding about the reason for his visit, "buy a special music box."

"Of course," Erik wiped his hands on his trousers nervously, "Anything special? What melody do you want or do you want one with different melodies?"

"Different melodies? You have music boxes which can play more than one piece of music?" The tenor was really interested.

Erik nodded. "Usually I make boxes with three pieces of music, but I have some large ones with up to twelve melodies. Twelve is the maximum, otherwise the box would become far too large." He took one box from the shelf and put it on the counter, wound it up and explained: "It has three metal chime barrels with three different melodies. With these three levers you control which melody it plays." Erik pushed down one of the levers and the melody of the first duet between Figaro and Susanna from the opera 'le nozze di figaro'.

Both men were silent and listened to the melody. When it ended there was a short buzz and a klick. Erik explained: "If the spring is wound up too tight it unwinds at the end. This prolongs the service life of the music box."

"Interesting," Piangi said for lack of anything better to say.

Erik sighed and put the music box back to the shelf. "That's not what you are looking for," he stated.

"No. Actually I came to..." Piangi did not find the courage to tell the truth, so he said: "More like... a pocket watch? I heard you have pocket watches with music?"

"Not really," Erik admitted, "A pocket watch is too small to include a real music box. But I have some that play a very short melody every full hour. They are... much larger than the average pocket watch." He took two of his special pocket watches from a drawer and placed them on the counter. "But I think this too is not what you are really looking for?"

Piangi smiled awkwardly: "Is it that easy to read my thoughts?"

Erik shrugged and tried to keep his voice calm: "I'm spending too much time around doctors, that's all. I can't help learning."

"Yes. Actually I came here to ask you - why?" Piangi asked awkwardly. It was not easy for him.

"Why what?" Erik asked confused. He could not remember ever attacking Piangi. The leading tenor was adequate, there was no better one available so why would Erik attack him?

"I see your mask, Monsieur Morriere, and even if Carlotta had not told me I would have guessed that you are hiding some sort of disfigurement beneath that mask," Piangi carefully began, took a deep breath, and continued awkwardly, but looking Erik in the eyes, making the masked man very uncomfortable: "Must be hard to live with a mask."

"It is," Erik answered and looked away, staring at the shelves. It was easier not to look another one in the eyes.

"If you know the mocking and shame yourself, why did you always treat cruelly me with scorn?" Piangi asked, breathing hard with the efford to finally say what he had come here to say.

"What?" Erik did not understand. When had he been cruel to that man? When had he mocked him?

"In every letter to the managers you complained about my weight," Piangi said, his voice low.

Erik stared at the tenor in shock. He had not expected this to be a bad thing. "But you agree that too much weight affects your breathing and therefor your singing?" Erik asked astonished. He failed to see why stating the truth was such a bad thing.

"As if I did not know this!" the tenor replied angrily, "You put it as if this was my fault. What would you think, Monsieur, if I mocked you because of your deformity and put it like it was your fault? Before you lose your temper - I know it is not your fault."

Erik struggled to control himself. "I'm not a psychiatrist. If you need a doctor, in the first floor lives one. If you want to buy something, I suggest that you decide what you want. You are wasting my time." A harsh reply, but it was all he could do without risking to be hurt by what the fat man said.

Piangi reached for his purse, took out some money and held it out to Erik: "I'll buy whatever you give me for this. And I want you to listen!"

Erik's eyes went wide. The sum was rather large, only the largest clocks with the most difficult music boxes would cost that much - the ones he needed a month to make them. He needed the money. "Agreed. I listen," he answered and crossed his arms as if to shield himself.

"It is not my fault I am that fat," Piangi explained, "I eat less than most people, but still do not lose weight. I suffer constant hunger and sometimes I am invited to parties - that is when I sometimes can't withstand temptation and eat a normal portion - only to wake with a few pounds more. Maybe now you understand my question, why you - you, who knows what it is like to be mocked because of a stigma that was not your fault - cruelly mocked me and put me to public shame?"

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _to be continued_


	43. Confrontation: Piangi (cont)

**Education of the Heart**

 **Confrontation: Piangi (cont.)**

Erik stared at the fat man before him. He was glad to have the counter between them for he was not sure if he should get angry or sad or feel guilty. Two years ago - god, was it really that long? - he would consider this as terrible insult and react accordingly, punishing the offender. But now he was not sure. It was too much for him and he needed to leave this room or he would try the only other method of escaping an unbearable situations: anger and hatred.

"Excuse me," he said, turned round and fled to the workshop. His friends were not surprised, this happened regularly. They just waited for Erik to yell something about an intolerable mess - which he himself had created - and complaining about the time he had to waste with customers when he could be doing real work. Erik sank onto his bed and stared at his three friends who were busy with cutting small wooden boards Erik would need for his music boxes or the large clocks. If he marked the small wooden boards he could trust them to cut them correctly.

"Come with me," Erik ordered.

"But... customer in shop?" Dede asked. This was one of the rules Erik had given them: If a customer is in the shop, only Madame Buquet and Erik himself were allowed there.

"I want you to meet him," Erik stated and got up. The three men followed him obediently.

Ubaldo Piangi was suprised to see Erik coming back with three men who looked strange. The singer had not seen mongoloids before, but he had heard about them, they were said to be idiots and not much better than animals.

"Monsieur Piangi, I'd like you to meet my assistents," Erik said, "This is Maximilian, called Dede, Rene and Jules." The three men gave a small bow.

"Hello," the singer said uneasily, not sure what to make of this.

The three men looked at Erik as if asking for permission for something. "You may approach him," Erik said friendly. Rene opened the hidden door in the counter and they approached Piangi.

"Who are you?" Rene asked.

"I am Ubaldo Piangy, leading tenor of the Opera Populaire, at your service," the singer answered, not sure what was happening and what the Phantom tried to accomplish by this farce.

"You singer?" Jules asked, then, with an ashamed look at Erik, corrected himself: "Are you singer?" Still not really good language, but Erik wasn't angry. Speaking was not Jules strong side, when one could understand him, it was sufficient.

"Yes, I am a singer," Piangi confirmed.

"Erik's singer too," Rene said.

Piangi raised his eyebrows. He had not known that the Phantom was a singer. He had known the Phantom being a musician, but a singer? That was new to him. He looked at Erik who suddenly seemed to relax. Erik felt much better seeing that his friends reacted friendly to Piangi. He knew they were able to read people's feelings much better than he could and if they liked someone this person usually had no bad intentions. So if they were friendly with the tenor, there was no imminent danger.

Erik shook his head and asked with a friendly smile: "Please, Monsieur, take a seat. May I offer something? Tea, coffee or just water?"

Piangi sat down and asked for a cup of coffee. "Black, please," he added.

Erik answered with a smile: "Really? I take it with much milk and sugar. Most people expect me to like the bitter taste of black coffee, but I don't. I dislike everything that tastes bitter."

They sat at the small table in the customer's area at the shop, drinking coffee. Erik seemed relaxed now that his three friends were with them, sitting on the counter, cutting small wooden boards.

Erik switched to Italian, which he spoke with a heavy French accent and some grammatical errors, but otherwise fluently: "Thank you, Signore Piangi, for telling me. I have to admit that I... was absolutely wrong. I just saw your... um... size and thought you were a weak-minded and hedonistic glutton. I want to apologize for my prejudice. You are right - I was no better than they are. I was prejudiced by what I saw."

Piangi allowed himself a smile. "I was prejudiced too. I thought you were a madman but you are a gentleman, if a rather eccentric one."

"You called my opera an insult," Erik reminded him.

"Yes. It is so... different. It is not something the audience would ever appreciate. And - no offense - I certainly do not share your tastes," Piangi said and scratched his ear to hide that he was raising his hand to protect himself against the dreaded lasso as the unfortunate stagehand had suggested. Not that it had saved the stagehand.

Erik sighed. "Actually today I would not compose like this. Tastes change - even mine does," he admitted.

They were silent for some time, the only noise being that of the sawing.

"Carlotta told me," Piangi said, "You had quite a fit of temper - and she too. She can be trying sometimes."

" **Sometimes**?" Erik snorted, "Her arrogant airs and graces are intolerable. She's so very self-centered, she's a narcissist. I wonder how you endure her company, she's constantly bossing you around."

Piangi sighed deeply. "She can be trying. But you do not know her as I do. If you had, you would never have treated her like you did. You acted like there was a personal vendetta between you two. Why?"

Erik studied his cup as if it was really interesting. It had been one thing to tell the doctor why he hated Carlotta - but tell it to Piangi who was her friend? "She is past her prime," Erik said as diplomatically as he could, "And her arrogance and bad behaviour is really..." He stopped himself. Better not tell the fat tenor the truth.

Piangi did not disagree, instead he answered sadly: "You do not know her as I do."

"Thank heavens," Erik mumbled, he surely did not want to know her better. What he knew was more than enough. "I know that she was a good soprano once, but now her voice no longer has the quality a leading soprano needs. She's too old for most of her roles. Come on - a fifty years old Marguerite? A fifty years old Pamina?"

"I know that you prefer Christine Daae. You never made any secret of that," Piangi said. If anything was known about the Phantom, it was how he tried to support her career, even if the presumed reasons why he would do so differed.

Erik stood up and started pacing the room. "You know **not** what you speak of!" he snapped at the fat tenor.

"You were her mysterious teacher, weren't you?" Piangi asked.

" **If** I was - what's that to **you**?" Erik retorted angrily and spun round.

"When I met Carlotta first, she was a waitress in a small cafe," Piangi told him, "She was singing in that cafe to entertain the guests. I was a very young singer then, member of the chorus. I witnessed her career - from the waitress in a small cafe to the star of Paris."

"You are not telling me anything I did not know before," Erik replied, a bit calmer, "Why?"

"Maybe you know the price she payed for her rapid success?" Piangi uncomfortably asked.

Erik went back to the table and took his seat. "I know," he said sadly, "It is really sad, but... this happened to many female singers and dancers. Managers, politicians and rich patrons demanded certain favors in exchange for larger roles. It is sad that good singers and dancers have to prostitute themselves to get good roles and a chance to even begin their career." He was genuine, he strongly disliked that common practice. Erik had always despised that, in an Opera he would manage no girl would be forced to lose her pride if she wanted a chance - her talent, her ability only that should count.

Piangi nodded. "She was so good and so very talented - and ambitious. She was willing to sacrifice everything for her career, but I am afraid, she sacrificed too much. She endured so much pain, suffered so much - she has nothing but her singing. If she's not the prima donna, she's nothing. Can you even imagine what it means to be a star and feel that you are no longer as good as you were a few years ago? Can you imagine what it did to her when you made her croak, the public humiliation? And all this for a girl who is too young and insecure to be the leading soprano yet."

" **Shut up!** " Erik yelled and threw his cup to the wall in his sudden outburst, "Don't you dare to compare that stupid, fat cow to the virtuous angel Christine!"

"Do you even know what you are saying?" Piangi suddenly asked, not angrily or accusing, just curious.

"Perfectly," Erik coldly replied, "Christine **is** the better singer by far."

"This is something we will never agree on," Piangi offered diplomatically, "But you are blinded by love. Christine Daae has a good voice and I agree that under your tutelage she made a terrific progress. But she is too young, you are pushing her far too hard. Don't you see that you'll ruin her if you continue like this? You demand perfection, but she is just a girl. In ten years she'll be a prima donna, then she will be mature enough not to suffer that horrible stage fright every time she's going to the stage. Then she will be able to deal with bad critiques and not break down every time some bad critique is published. But if you continue to push her so hard, you'll succeed making her the star of Paris before she's 25. But it will result in her being worn out before she's 35. Do you want that?"

Erik jumped to his feet and hurried to the bathroom, locked the door behind him. He turned on the water - there was only cold water - and took off his mask, bent over the sink to splash cold water on his face. He would not lose his temper, he would not. He had to stay in control.

"Erik? You okay?" Dede asked and knocked at the door.

"No! **Go away**!" Erik snapped.

"Need doctor?" Rene asked.

" **No**! Leave me alone!" Erik sat down and stared at the sink and the little stove for heating the water, at the rusty tin-bathtub. This was his life now - broken, ruined, without purpose and whenever he tried to have one moment for himself he would not get it, not even when he locked himself in the bathroom. He heard his three friends discuss in that strange short sentences they used among themselves if they should call the doctor, get the cat or break the door.

Erik heaved a deep sigh. This won't do. "Allright, I'm coming!" he called out to them, pushed himself up, replaced the mask and unlocked the door. "Not one word!" he hissed at his three friends, "You are the worst **nuisance** I know. Beware, I've **killed** men for less!" They ignored his threat. He sometimes did hurt them, slap them or something like that - in fact he treated them like children so yes, they had to endure punishment every so often and even accept that he sometimes raised his hand against them just because he needed to release his distress somehow, but he would never really harm them and surely not kill them. He loved them too much.

When he returned to the shop, he appeared calm and composed. "I'm sorry, Signore," Erik said in Italian.

The singer nodded, but said nothing.

Erik sat down, not knowing what to say. Piangi looked at him, calmly, with a certain sadness in his eyes. Erik shifted uncomfortably and started playing with his own pocket watch.

"What you did to Carlotta was horrible," Piangi said, "Her worst fear had always been that her voice would crack during a performance. You did this to her. What is your worst fear? How would you feel if someone did it to you?"

Erik shuddered. His worst fear was to be exposed before a large crowd, that everyone would see his disfigurement, that they would mock him, humiliate him, maybe even attack him and beat him to death. "She disobeyed my orders," Erik explained, then held up a hand to stop Piangi from speaking up, "I know that I had no legal right to give these orders, no need to remind me." He shuddered again. "Maybe... if Carlotta managed to be a bit more friendly..."

"She has tried being friendly," Piangi explained calmly, "She learned the hard way that everyone cares only for oneself and every friendliness is a weakness another one will immediately exploit. She can't afford any friendliness."

Erik nodded. "I understand. In that, she and I may have more in common than either one cares to admit," he stated, "But... what did you hope to accomplish by coming here?"

"I think I got what I wanted," the singer answered with a smile and got up.

"Wait!" Erik grabbed his sleeve to hold him back. " **I am sorry**. I should not have been so... prejudiced by your appearance. You are right, I should have known better."

Piangi gave him a smile. "I could say the same. By the way - some duets in Don Juan Triumphant are... really **great**. Maybe... you try to do a composition rather in that style and leave the... dissonant pieces? And... if Christine's sudden progress is your doing, I'd really like to hear you singing. Maybe when I come back to get my... what was it?"

"You did not specify what you wanted," Erik reminded him.

"A pocket watch with a melody. I'd like the aria _'Think of me'_. I know you think of Christine when you think of that opera, but I always think of Carlotta," the Italian singer said with a friendly smile.

"Of course. Thank you very much, Signore Piangi. I... would be happy if..." Erik stopped himself and swallowed hard. "Thank you, sir."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Piangi is a very friendly character (he has to be to endure Carlotta's temper and still be her friend). He just wants everyone to feel good and if possible no one to bear any grudge against anyone. Of course he can't make friends with everybody, but if he could, he'd certainly do so. Another thing Erik has to learn - he's in no way better than anyone who mocked and despised him because of his deformity - he mocked and despised Piangi because he's fat. But after such a long time in the care of a psychiatrist Erik is able to accept that he had done wrong and tries to apologize._

 _Have a nice weekend and please review!_


	44. the Phantom's Lair

**Education of the Heart**

 **the Phantom's Lair**

When Dr. Benevole came to the small shop he found a very thoughtful Erik. Erik was sitting in his workshop, carefully working on a special clock, but something was different. It was the way he ignored everyone, even as the doctor put a hand on his shoulder, Erik didn't react.

"Erik?" the doctor asked worriedly.

"He's a gentleman," Erik said, talking only to himself as if he was alone, "He's educated and kind. How could I not see this? How could I - I of all people - be so very prejudiced by physical appearance?" He shook his head, deeply ashamed of himself. When he realized the doctor standing at his side he looked up to him and stated: "Signor Piangi is a good man. He did not deserve the way I constantly mocked him."

"Piangi?" the doctor asked alarmed, "Why do you suddenly talk about Piangi?"

"He came here today to order a special watch," Erik answered, "He... asked me why I was so cruel as to mock his appearance in almost all of my letters, putting him to public shame. I guess I... am **not** above humanity after all. I am just as prejudiced by what I see as everyone else. I mocked him because he's fat." He shook his head sadly. "He's only fat - but otherwise good looking." He laughed bitterly and gestured to his mask: "Of all people **I** was the one to hold him up to ridicule because of his **appearance**! I'm no better... **no better**..."

Dr. Benevole smiled. This was the first time Erik admitted to a purely moral guilt, what he had done to the tenor was certainly not a crime, but Erik understood that it was nevertheless heartless and had hurt the man maybe more than he would ever admit. "Erik, I came here to tell you that Piangi wanted to talk to you, but obviously I am too late," the doctor said, "But... whatever happened, I think it went well."

"You never told me it would be **that** painful," Erik complained, "If I had known, I would have chosen a trial and death sentence - then I would already be dead by now, but now I have to live with the knowledge that I am no better than those people I always hated and despised, maybe even worse, because I positively knew better and simply did not care."

"You really made good progress," the doctor told him.

Erik smiled awkwardly. "Great. Do you have a cure for the cure, please? It was easier when I was just a crazy self-centered and absolutely heartless monster."

"I hope it will get easier in time," Dr. Benevole said, really proud of the progress his patient had made so far, "There is one thing... the managers of the opera, they ask when you will finally open you lair to them. They want to erase everything you build in there to make sure no one will ever try to live there again."

"I have no intention of going back," Erik said, and he meant it. He had some people who cared about him and he would never want to be that lonely again.

The doctor chuckled: "Of course not. I know, but... I guess they are just curious. And you promised, if I may remind you."

"I promised," Erik sighed, "I think I will have to be more careful what I promise in the future. I'm not used to living up to a promise."

"Because you always ran away before anyone would remind you of a promise?" the doctor asked.

"That's the advantage of nomad life - never having to keep a promise or pay a debt," Erik chuckled, "But I guess this is no longer possible. So yes, I am willing and ready to show them everything. Does Clemenceau want to accompany us? I guess the managers won't like the idea of being alone with me."

* * *

Of course the magistrate was with them, and of course both managers and ten policemen who were in exceptional good mood - they were Claude Meunier and his men and they knew Erik and thought him an eccentric but rather likeable scoundrel. Of course no one of them would trust him, but they liked the masked man. He had become some sort of favorite scoundrel - he was no good man and they would ask him first if there was a burglary in the neighborhood, but they liked how he tried to make their job easier - he even brought a bottle of wine with him to the police station if they had to arrest him again to question him because of one or another complaint. They liked his black humor when he had always prepared something for them - and laughed the most when he had fresh fruits, claiming he been absolutely sure they would arrest him while they were still fresh.

Erik was very uncomfortable, having to open his old home to the authorities and - much worse - the managers. He did not know what he could possibly expect them to do with what they would find there. At least he had had enough time to remove everything that might give them ideas about his state of mind when he was living there. Actually it looked like a flat of any other man who was currently busy moving out. Some things already taken away, some already packed and ready to be taken away and some things standing there, covered with dust to be left behind.

Erik was glad that he had already taken away some of the things that would give the doctor a completely false idea about his relationship with Christine - his sketches, the automaton that looked like her, the notebook where he had carefully taken down everything about her. He knew her precise height, weight, size - actually he knew that she had lost 3,32 kilogramm after she came to the opera house, gained 5,12 kilogramm when he started teaching her, again lost 2,76 kilogramm when he had first abducted her and finally gained another 2,34 kilogramm. Her appetite was strongly influenced by how much stress she suffered. He was glad that the doctor would never know just how obsessed with every detail about her life he had been and how easy it was to get that information. But now that he had started thinking about what Christine might think about this he was ashamed of himself. If anyone would note so many intimate details about his life he would kill that guy - but not even Dr. Benevole who would have every right as his doctor to note these details actually did.

While Erik was still nervous wondering if he had not forgotten something he should have taken away or burned, the managers had found the huge pipe organ that was the largest item in the room. Erik's flat consisted of one large room with the organ in the middle, a bed in one corner, a stove in another and many shelves, a large desk and a few chairs, including his favorite chair which was looking like a throne. It was actually a prop from the stage he had stolen and adapted for a vanishing-trick, just in case he would need a hiding place.

Of course the first thing one would see was the huge pipe organ.

"Does it work?" Firmin asked, staring at the instrument.

"Of course it does," Erik snapped deeply offended by that question. The doctor rolled his eyes.

"The organ we have for the opera is not half as big as this one. Andre, do you think we could bring that one upstairs to somewhere behind or under the stage so it might be used in performances?" Firmin asked.

Andre scratched his head. "Would be difficult. It would have to be dismantled and brought upstairs in pieces. Do you think any organ builder would accept to work down here and at what price?"

"I doubt any organ builder would know what to do with this one," Erik cut in, his voice silky. He was very pleased with himself. "Do you want to hear it?"

"Of course," Firmin answered, apparently forgetting where he was, "Do you need someone to operate the blower?"

A very arrogant smile appeared on Erik's lips. "Of course not! This one works with electricity," he said.

"I've never seen an organ with an electric blower," Firmin mumbled astonished as Erik pulled a lever that immediately started the organ.

Erik sat down and brushed the dust off the keys. Then he waited a bit until the blower was ready - it always took a few minutes, but then it worked perfectly. He flexed his fingers and tried a few keys. It felt so good to be playing again. He could not allow himself to really forget everything and just play, but he could play - only then did he realize that he was somehow playing for an audience now. He could not help showing off - this was his chance to show them his superior skills when it came to music. Having not played the organ for a very long time he was not sure if he could do it, but there was nothing to lose - he had no intention of working as a musician so there was nothing to lose.

There was one composition he had written just for developing his skills playing the organ, it was so difficult, he had pushed himself to his limits. Maybe there was no one else in this world who could play it, or if there was, it was unlikely this man would be in France right now. Erik looked up at Firmin and asked: "Do you want to know the limits of this instrument?" When the manager nodded, Erik started to play. It was difficult and yes, he made mistakes, but he clenched his teeth and went on as if nothing had happened. It was unlikely anyone but himself noticed the mistakes.

When he stopped playing, sweat was running down his face and neck and he was struggling to catch his breath. He turned to see the faces of the managers. Firmin stood there, his mouth moving like that of a carp as if he was trying to say something but his ability for speech had just been blown out of his head. Andre was trembling and crying. The man was really crying, Erik noticed to his surprise. His own lungs were burning and he could not speak, but he turned to see the doctor and the magistrate. The doctor was sitting cross-legged on one of the old carpets, his head in his hands, a dreamlike look in his face. The magistrate had an almost pained look on his face, his eyes closed.

"Gentlemen, what do you think?" Erik asked, still breathless.

Andre was the first one to speak up. "I want that organ for the opera!" It was not what Erik had hoped for - even the best organ does not help if there is no one who can play it properly.

"Only if you take it as part of the refund I owe the Opera House and my debt with you is settled then once and for all," Erik replied. He was angry and hurt that no one said anything about his playing. Why didn't they applaud?

"How did you do this?" Firmin asked.

"What? The electric blower?" Erik wasn't sure what this was about.

"Playing so fast? It is impossible to play that! Impossible! So how did you...?"

Erik smiled arrogantly as he answered: "Maybe you forget whom you are talking to. I already told you that no one - **no one!** \- would ever match my musical talent and knowledge."

"Modesty is not exactly your middle name," the doctor said and pushed himself up, "But I have to agree that you are the best organist ever."

Andre and Firmin were obviously quarreling about something.

"I want that organ! **Electric blower!** It has an electric blower!" Andre insisted.

"It would take months and we would have to allow **him** working here in the house - are you sure that is a good idea? What if he's the only one who can repair it if something happens? He could blackmail us again and this time quite legally," Firmin objected.

"Messieurs, please," Erik cut in, spreading his hands in a meaningful gesture, "Do you really think **I** would do anything that might harm m... the Opera Populaire?"

Everyone roared in laughter. This statement coming from Erik was absurd. Even Erik himself smiled as he noticed just how ridiculous his statement must seem to them. He had really meant it, but now he preferred to pretend he had been joking, everything else would be embarrassing at least.

"Then... you agree to give us this instrument plus a detailed manual in case something needs to be repaired?" Firmin asked, not believing his ears.

Erik sighed. "The instrument - yes. If my debt with you is settled then. But I can't write a manual. I never read or used manuals and... to be true, I have no idea how to write one."

"But you would show someone how it works?" Firmin wanted to know, suddenly mistrusting the whole idea.

Now it was Erik's turn to mistrust. He knew how this would very likely end: if he showed someone how his creations worked and instructed them on repairing and if necessary re-building them, it was likely they would sell them as their own ideas and he would be cheated again. It was a very hard decision. "Only if all my debts are settled then," he demanded.

"I want that..." Andre began, but Firmin grabbed his colleague's arm and pulled him back.

"No! You know how much..." he disagreed.

"We won't get it anyways from him," Andre reasoned, "So why not take what we can?"

"Because he owes us much more!"

"Didn't you listen? We won't get it! He's a sly devil and this garbage rat backs him up. Erik Morriere **officially** earns close to nothing, the shop does not make any profit, it is barely even - I'm absolutely sure they have a **really good tax adviser** who helps them to hide the largest part of the money they make," Andre reminded his colleague.

"How do **you** know about my tax files?" Erik demanded angrily. This was supposed to be secret. Some official must have given this information to the managers.

Clemenceau started taking notes. This was getting interesting. The doctor faked a cough and the magistrate shot him a threatening look.

The managers and Erik suddenly stared at the magistrate.

"Maybe... um... we discuss this with our lawyer before making a definite decision," Andre reasoned.

"Good idea," Firmin answered a bit too eagerly.

Erik added: "I agree that we should not rush things." He surely did not want Clemenceau to give a hint to the tax authorities. "And... maybe we come to an agreement including some of the other things I have to leave behind? Maybe if I... give some of them to the Opera Populaire it would be enough to settle any debt? But this needs **time** to discuss, I think and here is not the best place for a business meeting, isn't it?"

Both managers agreed eagerly and Clemenceau glared at the doctor. The psychiatrist was to help that blasted criminal to become an honest man and not warn him that his tax fraud was about to be exposed. On the other hand - how did the managers come to know about the numbers and figures of Gontier's enterprise? Surely not legally! He sighed. Some crimes seemed to be generally accepted by society, like tax fraud, and he was quite sure there were not many businessmen who really paid their taxes as they should, maybe none.

"What is this?" Meunier asked as he sat down on Erik's chair.

"NO!" Erik exclaimed, but he was too late, the policeman was suddenly gone.

"Where am I? It is completely dark!" Claude cried out.

"Just... stay where you are. There is nothing dangerous," Erik called and pushed the right buttons to make the man reappear. Nothing happened. Obviously the man had moved away from where he was supposed to be. "I said **don't move**!" he exclaimed angrily, " **Stay where you are.** This is going to take a few minutes! And **please** , Messieurs, do not touch anything here!"

Erik hated this. His former home did not feel anything like home any more so he was able to endure these men being there - but why did they have to touch everything like small children? Couldn't they just look with their eyes and ask him if they did not understand something? They were worse than his three friends who knew perfectly well that they were not allowed to touch everything. They knew the "look with eyes only - no hands" rule. Erik groaned. Who were the idiots here? Erik silently hoped someone would accidentally hurt himself in one of his rattraps.

Erik had to open the secret door beneath the chair and looked down. Claude sat there, quite comfortable, grinning up at him.

"I see you are a connoisseur in wine," the policeman stated cheerfully, "You have quite a wine cellar here. No need to hurry in my rescue, I think I could endure a few months here."

"Claude Meunier! Get up and out of the wine cellar!" Clemenceau ordered angrily. He turned to the doctor and asked mockingly: "Tell me, Dr. Benevole, is criminality infectious? We seem to have an **epidemic** here in the opera and this masked fellow is the source."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik takes this invasion in his old lair very lightly, doesn't he? Well, he already took away the things he really loves and he has been away almost two years - it does no longer feel like "home". He's not one for nostalgia, he's used to burn the bridges behind him and leave many things behind._

 _Please review!I'm addicted to reviews ;-) !_


	45. Rats, Cats and other Problems

**Education of the Heart**

 **Rats, Cats and other Problems**

Dr. Benevole was very surprised when Erik told him one day in a very good mood that he had finally reached an agreement with the managers that would free him of all his debts and even better, the managers liked that idea too, and they all had to be thankful to the magistrate - but never tell him. The doctor jumped to his feet in alarm. "Erik! This sounds like committing another crime!" he exclaimed angrily.

"I guess not," Erik answered happily, "The agreement was written by a notary public, double-checked by a lawyer and a tax adviser." Erik chuckled. "You see, I am absolutely inept to do any bookkeeping or understand the horribly difficult language they use in legal contracts. Arabic is easier to learn. So... I have no idea what the tax adviser did, Gontier and I trust him blindly. He settled any misunderstandings that might have occurred."

The doctor was not fooled into believing Erik would trust anyone blindly and of course not a tax adviser but right now it seemed to help his situation to claim that he didn't know anything. "So - you just needed the common enemy to find an agreement, did you? But why did the common enemy had to be the law and the authorities?" he asked and made no attempt to hide his anger.

Erik smiled: "You wanted me to become more... **normal**. Are the managers normal? If you are about to say yes now, then I might remind you that it was mainly the idea of their lawyer."

"Some crimes are socially accepted, is that what you wanted to say?" the doctor asked curiously.

"Obviously," Erik answered lightly, "If you call everyone who dislikes paying taxes criminally insane, my dear doctor, I think all of France is an asylum."

Erik did not talk about the details of the agreement, it consisted mainly of him handing over the pipe organ and helping an engineer dismantling it, allowing him to take notes and make sketches. He would more or less give them his invention - most important the electric blower system - to do with as they pleased. They could even claim it to be their own invention. Plus some other things, magic tricks or his own creations for staging some operas. Sometimes Erik had created his own designs just for fun and some pieces were guaranteed to become a must-see in the upper class for it were magic tricks fitting perfectly in the story of certain operas. But the price Erik was paying was high: His name would never be mentioned and he would have to see his inventions and designs being used under another name. It was another humiliation he would have to endure and keep silent, as he always did when he had no chance to defend himself.

* * *

It was not easy to work at the opera again for Erik. Not that he would come near anyone, certainly not, neither he nor the managers wanted to risk him accidentally meeting anyone, but somehow the ballet rats had heard about the man who was the Phantom being back at the opera house. It was just a coincidence that a cleaning woman had heard the managers talk about the Phantom-fellow being quite useful now and spread the news.

The younger members of the corps de ballet decided to look out for the masked man. A masked man would be spotted easily in the streets when leaving the opera house, isn't it? Well, it was not for Erik knew perfectly well how to avoid being seen when he left the house. He met the organ maker in the third cellar and they went downstairs together. The organ maker first did not like the idea of having to work alongside a madman, but once he had seen the organ he had forgotten everything else.

The ballet rats started a game of hide and seek to find Erik - who certainly had no intention being found. As long as they were working in the cellar it was no problem at all and they had agreed that the organ maker would be able to put the instrument together alone after having seen it dismantled and taking notes, so this too would not be too much of a problem. At least they had thought so, for the organ maker didn't know much about electricity and found it impossible to put together the electric blower system.

It was not easy for the organ maker - who had a very good reputation - to have to go to find Erik and ask his help.

Erik was reluctant to got to the opera house again, it did no longer feel like his opera house, he no longer felt save there. He was homeless again, not literally, but he had no place he would call home now. The opera was just an opera like many others in Europe. He felt like a man who's home had burned down. The opera house was to be his home - more than that, his tomb where he would find eternal rest - and now it was more or less invaded by men and he was most effectively banished from there by the many painful memories this building held for him.

But finally Erik's vanity got the better of him and he agreed. It was good to see one of the best organ makers begging him for help for he could not put together the blower system he had helped dismantling and had all notes and sketches. He knew this was to be a secret, but it felt good to have at least someone admit that he, the one whom everyone despised, was superior in mind.

* * *

That gave the ballet rats the chance to see him. Not that they dared coming closer, but once the rumor reached the ballet that the Phantom was now helping to build up some myterious apparatus beneath the stage at night. Of course Erik would never work at daytime when he would not be able to avoid meeting the people who surely had every reason to hate him and plot their revenge.

So when Erik noticed that about twenty members of the ballet were standing at the end of the corridor, he panicked and without any word ran away. He could not stop running before he reached one of his secret hiding places - no longer guarded by traps but at least well-hidden - where he could sit down and catch his breath.

Suddenly the irony of this really absurd situation sank in and Erik laughed almost hysterically. "Look at me," he said to himself, "Running from the ballet rats! How the mighty have fallen!" He shook his head, still laughing, and asked himself why he had panicked - it was a group of dancing girls! A few of the male dancers were with them - but they surely were no real threat to him, were they? He took a deep breath and brushed off his clothing as best as he could - his little hiding places were full of dust and spider-webs - before he returned to the place where the organ was to be set up. Carefully he sneaked closer, again wondering why he was so scared. These were dancers, most of them girls, what could they possibly do to him? He shuddered. One dancer was like one rat - harmless. But so many of them? They could overpower and kill him. It was unlikely, but not entirely impossible. He had seen people forming a bloodthirsty mob before. Normal, honorable and usually weak people who didn't even know how to hurt anyone could become a bloodthirsty mob when they were many against one. And usually he was the one who stood alone...

Erik could hear the ballet girls asking the organ maker about the Phantom. They wanted to know everything. "Carlotta said, he's the ugliest man in the world, more beast than man. Is that true?" "Does he really have no nose?" "Does he look like a corpse?" "Is it true that he can speak to rats?" Erik blinked. That one was new. "Do his eyes glow?" "Is it true that he can see in absolute darkness?" "Has he tried to kill you?"

Erik's brow furrowed. That was not going the way he had hoped for.

The organ maker answered annoyed: "How am I to work here when you keep troubling me? He's just a man in a mask and I do not know anything more!"

"O, we understand," one of the girls said sympathetically, "You are as scared of him as everyone else."

"We haven't forgotten what happened to the last man who answered our questions. Poor Joseph."

Erik had to lean against the wall to steady himself. He suddenly felt like he might be sick any moment now.

"Would you **please** leave me alone so I can do my job?" the organ maker asked, this time really angry.

"Is it true that he's madly in love with the soprano Christine Daae? Carlotta said..."

Erik did not really get what they were telling about what Carlotta said. His head was spinning and he needed all self-control not to go mad now. He was not sure if he would panic and ran or lose his temper and attack - whatever, it would be better to stay silent and hide. He tried to breath, to concentrate on breathing, to calm himself.

The girls giggled and the organ maker grunted in frustration. Erik tried to concentrate on listening again.

"I doubt she would ever kiss him. After all Carlotta said he's so ugly, she'd rather kiss a frog!" a dancer stated.

"In the fairy tale the princess does not kiss the frog, she throws him into the wall," one of the younger members of the corps de ballet cut in.

"She already has her prince, why should she kiss a beast?"

"The mere thought would make her sick, I'm sure of that. A beast with blood on its hands..."

Erik cringed as he realized what this was about - Carlotta must have started these rumors about him being in love with Christine. The fact that they were true only made it worse. He could easily imagine how disgusting it was to look at his face and yes, he knew he would never receive any loving kiss, but... he scolded himself for being such a sentimental, romantic fool for not accepting reality.

"Maybe he's just a poor misunderstood creature like the beast in 'la Belle et la Bete'?" another girl asked, "Maybe if someone..." The laughter that answered her was too much for Erik to stand. He could only run now, run and hide like he had always done when he could stand no more pain.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _to be continued..._


	46. Rats, Cats and other Problems (cont)

**Education of the Heart**

 **Rats, Cats and other Problems (cont.)**

Erik fled back to the shop, he just wanted to lie down and cry and he had nowhere else to go now. When he came there he saw Madame Buquet busy cleaning up the door.

"What happened?" he asked, alarmed by the way she was crying again.

She got up and stared at Erik. "It is all **your** fault!" she accused him, "If it weren't for you they wouldn't call me a murderer's whore! They wouldn't piss in the entrance and leave it for me to clean up! They wouldn't..."

"And what do you think **I** could do about this?" Erik yelled at her, raising his hand as if to strike her, "Do you think I **enjoy** this? Do you think it is **easy** for me?" He saw the woman backing away into the shop, afraid of his sudden outburst and that he might really hurt her. Erik forced himself to relax and followed her to the shop, closing the door behind him. "I am fed up with your self-pity and whining! You are free to go - go back to the streets with your kids if this isn't good enough for you! I am the one who feeds your children, I am the one to clothe them and shelter them - so if you prefer the gutter, by all means, relief me of this burden!"

" **I am sorry you murdered my husband**!" she spat, unable to endure his accusations.

This suddenly caused Erik to freeze in his tracks. He felt as if he was turning to stone, barely able to breathe any more. He looked at the woman before him and her dirty pinafore. It was not the first time she had to clean up the entrance - some people still tried to get rid of him with such cruel and disgusting tricks. He could not imagine how it was for her to be accused of bedding down with the murderer of her late husband. Erik silently cursed Dr. Benevole for his training. It would have been easier if he had no empathy at all.

"I am sorry," he said softly, "Please accept my apology." When she said nothing, just stared at him, he shook his head slightly and reached for the bucket and the cleaning rag.

"What... what are you doing?" she asked dumbfounded.

He opened the door again and went to his knees, starting to clean the wooden threshold as best as he could from the filth. "If you are sharing in my disgrace, I can at least help you," he answered sadly, not looking up at her.

He heard her footsteps on the wooden floor, then suddenly saw her kneeling down beside him, scrubbing brush in her hand. "If you are doing my job, I can at least help you," she said firmly.

* * *

Erik was weary when he finally came to his workshop, not so much physically but emotionally. He felt like he was going to have a terrible headache. When he opened the door to the workshop he saw Dede, Rene and Jules sitting in Dede's bed, holding the two cats in their arms, all of them the perfect picture of innocence - if it hadn't been for the mess in the room. It looked like they had just been playing a game of catch until everything was turned upside down.

Erik was angry, in fact, he was furious and would have beaten them up if he had the strength right now, but he didn't. So he just said: "Fine. That's it. The cats are going to leave. We give them away for good!"

"Noooooo!" the three men cried, holding the two cats as close as possible, crying. But their tears failed to move Erik, he could not deal with that right now, he was emotionally drained and could find no empathy for anyone right now.

"Silence! If you are good now, we find them a good home - if not, I'll drown both of them, understood?" he threatened. Since the three men understood that Erik was absolutely serious, so they nodded sadly. "What are you thinking you are doing?" Erik went on, "I had a terrible day, I have not been able to finish my work at the opera and I am far behind with my work here - all I hoped for was **a chance to break down** for I cannot go on any longer. All I ask of you is to allow me to **exist** , but you are doing your best to add to my suffering! Can't you spare me your nonsense? If you want to work me to death you are doing a fine job!"

The three mongoloid men sat there, perfectly silent and calm. They would not be able to express it in words, but they understood that Erik was overchallenged and angry with the world itself and not really with them. Of course playing catch with the cats in the workshop had been a mistake, but they understood Erik needed to release his distress somehow. Better stay still, say nothing and hope he would not resort to physical violence.

When Erik's anger was spent, he sank down onto his bed, his face in his hands. Dede got up and placed both cats on Erik's lap. The cats meowed and started to rub against Erik's chest, trying to get his attention. Erik gently caressed them.

"Erik never drown kitten?" Dede asked.

"No," Erik sighed and took off his mask, allowing the cats to push their heads in his face, "But it is all too much... far too much. We better find them a good home where they are happy all day long. Don't you agree? A cramped workshop is no place for playful cats." Especially not for these two which came after their mother - tall, strong and with a taste for fighting, and they were male, soon they would start marking their territory... He had to get rid of them.

That moment a knock at the door startled them. Erik quickly put on his mask, before he opened the door only a few centimeters.

"Monsieur, the doctor from the first floor wants to speak to you," Madame Buquet informed him.

"Then kindly tell this old crone that I'm sorry for the noise and for whatever she thinks I might have done wrong and tell her to piss off!" Erik snapped at her with barely contained fury. He was only seconds from losing his temper.

He had surely not thought he'd hear an answer from the doctor herself: "Kindly tell Monsieur Bad Temper that **this** 'old crone' **won't** 'piss off' and everything he has to apologize for is not the yelling and the rather vulgar language he uses when he's scolding his assistants, he should really apologize for neglecting his piano playing. I love to hear him play and if he wants to play a real grand piano and not this tiny thing he has, he should come to my salon right away."

Erik opened the door fully and stared at the old woman. "Are you serious?" he asked, not sure if she was mocking him or not.

The old woman smiled at him. The masked man gave the best impression of a small boy who's asked if he wanted to come out and play for the first time in his life. "It is hard to find a piano player who can keep up with me," she answered.

Erik pointed to her small hands and asked: "Are you up to reaching the full octave with your short fingers?" The woman held up her right hand and spread her fingers. Her hand was small but her fingers were almost unbelievable flexible. Erik nodded in approval. "Let's go."

"Want a kitten?" Dede asked and held up one of the two cats.

The old woman laughed. "No, thank you. I do not like pets. But maybe you could help me eat up all the cookies my daughters in law gave me? I hate to have to throw them away because they're becoming old..."

"You are too kind," Erik answered, more than surprised that this woman - who was a stranger to him - would invite him, whom she knew as a murderer and criminal insane man, in her flat. But she did and she seemed to be at ease with this.

* * *

Shortly after Erik found himself sitting at the piano bench next to the old woman and they were having much fun improvising. She would improvise a melody and he would play the accompanying second part, which was far more difficult. The old doctor had an excellent hearing and was a good pianist.

"I thought you were hard of hearing?" Erik asked, curious why everyone thought the old woman was deaf.

She chuckled. "I hear like any other old owl. But I love to pretend to be deaf - you have no idea what you can overhear if everyone thinks you wouldn't hear them at all."

Erik laughed.

The old woman played a short melody, then looked at Erik, asking: "Do you know the answer to this?" It was not so difficult. She had played the tune from "Don Giovanni" where Don Giovanni invites the Commendatore's statue. It was easy to guess what she was trying to do - have a dialogue only by playing certain music. Erik grinned as he answered with the tune of "La donna e mobile" from Rigoletto.

The old woman laughed. "I see you understand the rules of this game."

Their game of creating a dialogue only by playing the piano while they shared a bottle of wine between them. Finally Erik was laughing so hard his sides hurt and he had an almost painful hickup, but he could not stop laughing and playing. They were already gone from common known music to some highly unknown compositions and were both surprised by the knowledge of the other one - Erik had always thought no one would ever know as much as he about music but here was an old woman who even knew some pieces he had never heard or read about. Of course he knew many compositions she didn't know, but that she was able to play some tunes he had never heard before was a shock - but a pleasant one.

Their game was interrupted by Dede complaining that he was still hungry. Erik realized guiltily that he had absolutely forgotten to eat - and to give them something to eat and so they had plundered the old doctor's large box filled with cake and cookies.

"I am sorry," Erik answered gently, "I absolutely forgot. Madame, we have to go. Thank you very much for your kindness."

"My pleasure," she answered and held out her hand. He have an elegant bow as if to kiss her hand, but did not really touch her.

* * *

Over dinner they discussed whom they could trust with the cats.

"Girl singer!" Dede suggested.

Erik thought about this. Two male cats, both already spoiled, and Christine? This was no good idea - but he would love to see those two cats in the elegant house of the noble de Chagny family. They would surely shred the expensive carpets and curtains to pieces and leave their marks on the furniture. That would be fun. But he decided ultimately against giving the cats to Christine. He had not seen her and he did not even want to see her now. The pain he had been through had been far too much, he was not sure if he could endure any more of this.

"Girl dancer?" Jules asked.

"Madame Giry would kill me!" Erik exclaimed, then chuckled at the absurdity of this thought. But Madame Giry was no longer afraid of him, she would treat him like she treated anyone else - like a commander in an army bossing everyone around. "No - these cats are going to be large and fierce fighters. They are no cuddly cats who would be contend to sit on velvet pillows and silk blankets. They need something to do, like their mother."

"Dumping grounds?" Rene asked.

"No - Gontier already has their mother. She would chase them away like her last kitten. No, we need someone else."

"Opera?" Dede asked, "Chase rats?"

Erik stared at him. He was not sure if Dede was talking about the ballet rats or the real rats - either way, this would be a good idea. "I'll talk to the rat catcher."

* * *

Two days later Andre and Firmin locked themselves in their office and called for help for two large furry beasts looking more like small bears than cats had attacked them and were now proudly guarding the door to the manager's office. The managers had to wait for almost two hours before the rat catcher came and claimed the cats as his - they would help him keep the opera rat-free.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Much happened in this chapter, therefor I had to spit it in two. But I finished it in this week! Yay!_

 _Have a nice weekend._


	47. Discipline

**Education of the Heart**

 **Discipline**

Gontier was not happy when he saw the numbers and figures from the store - not the one for the tax authority but the real ones. Erik was doing too many things without earning anything. He decided he would not have it. As much as he understood that Erik was a creative genius and sometimes just needed a day or two off - but as soon as it was bad for business he would not tolerate it.

He found Erik in the workshop, playing the piano but not working.

"Erik Morriere!" Gontier tried to roar but with his voice it sounded rather ridiculous.

Erik did not even miss one note in his playing. "No need to shout, I'm not deaf."

"What are you doing?" Gontier accused him.

"What does it look like?" Erik answered, still not stopping in his playing.

" **Not working** ," Gontier stated, crossing his arms.

That got Erik's attention. He stopped playing and turned to face Gontier. "The shop is not a loss," he defended himself.

"Erik Morriere! Stop playing the fool! This is **business** and not some cozy little occupational therapy!" Gontier scolded him, "You behave like a small child, not able to wait for a new toy, excited when you get it but losing interest far too soon. This won't do. If you do not have the self-discipline to work like any other man does I have to close down the shop. My foremen surely know how to get lazy workers to do their duty with the garbage carts, if you prefer **that**."

"You can't..."

"It is **my** business enterprise, so yes, **I can**!" Gontier answered, not at all afraid of Erik, "And you are still on parole, aren't you?"

"But..."

"But what? You think everyone has to take care of your feelings and pamper you for you are such a poor deformed man? **Wrong**! You are going to work at least ten hours a day, Monday to Saturday like everybody else, is that understood?" Gontier sternly commanded.

"Yes, sir," Erik had no choice. Either that or back to the slums - he could not take that risk.

"Now that I see that you lack the necessary self-discipline to do your duty as you promised you would I will appoint someone as your overseer. I trust Madame Buquet to be a reasonable woman who knows what is necessary and as a mother who has to care for her children she won't take any risk," Gontier went on.

"What? But... she's a woman," Erik countered, "A woman can't be a foreman."

Gontier shrugged. "Then prove yourself trustworthy. Until then, she's your boss and you obey her every word. Either that - or this shop is closed by tomorrow and you're back driving the garbage cart. It is up to you now."

Erik clenched his fists and gnashed his teeth but he could do nothing right now. He would have to swallow his pride - again - and accept.

Gontier noticed how angry Erik was, so he added in a much softer voice: "This is nothing personal. I am a businessman, so my first priority is to make money. I generously look the other way when you have your fingers in the cash desk..."

"We agreed that I get a little extra under the table!" Erik defended himself.

"True enough. But what good is it to have an employee with unique skills if he refuses to work?" Gontier answered calmly, "I'm afraid I've been far too lenient, this does not agree with you. You are like a badly trained stallion - you need a skilled rider with a strong hand to curb you. I do not know why but I have a feeling that Madame Buquet is just the right woman for that job."

"You can't be serious!" Erik objected, he could accept scolding but he did not believe this degradation could really be happening.

"Deadly serious! I'll keep you on a tight leash from now on. You already owe me - don't make your debt worse."

* * *

Gontier had not counted on Erik's highly illogical urge to defy any given rules. Erik himself knew that Gontier was right, if he wanted to be in an employment he had to do his work, he himself would never have tolerated such laziness in any singer, dancer, stagehand or whatever. But now he was behaving worse than Carlotta when she had her ' _I'm the primadonna, I do not need rehersals_ ' moods. He knew all that, he knew he was lacking self-discipline, he knew he was not keeping his word and proving himself unreliable. He was ashamed of himself, but he could not bring himself to change his behavior, on the contrary, the more he felt the tight leash the less he could bring himself to do any work at all.

He had breakfast with his friends, he went to the dumping grounds to fetch some items but delayed his return and had a nice stroll around the park - which was nowhere near the dumping grounds or the shop - and returned late.

The next day he sat in the shop but instead of working he was playing with his friends a very childish version of a card game he had made up himself so they could play cards with few very easy rules.

On the third day he decided not to get up early. He was truly ashamed of himself and his behavior now, but somehow he enjoyed being like a naughty child so much, he could not bring himself to stop. He could not deny himself the secret pleasure of breaking rules again even if he knew fully well that this was going to get him in trouble.

Madame Buquet was nervous. She was not happy to be appointed the new manager of this shop, she hated to be the one in charge, the one to take responsibility. She hated to know that Gontier, Erik and the tax adviser - who was now suddenly Erik's best friend since they had decided to hire him - were committing severe tax fraud. They had more black money than white. Sometimes she asked herself if Erik just dice to find numbers he would write in the books. She knew there were two books, one for the tax authorities and a true one. Seeing Erik behaving more and more childish each day, she had to do something.

She knocked at the door and got the answer: "No!"

"Monsieur Morriere, the shop is already open, customers might come in and request to see you any time now."

"Send them away!"

"I won't! I'd rather use my key and let then in the workshop." This was a serious threat. Erik knew this woman would not have any mercy and he was quite sure she would even go to the street and ask some people to come in. There was no way he could allow himself and his friends to stay in bed any longer if he did not want to face some stranger dressed only in his nightshirt.

"Give me five minutes," he grumbled.

She stared at the clocks. He really needed five minutes, exactly five minutes, she wondered if he had been standing on the other side of the door with his pocket watch in his hands, waiting for the seconds to pass.

"Monsieur Morriere, you know that I am in charge of this shop now," she stated annoyed.

"O yes? I'm going to do the shopping now. The butcher's, the vegetable shop and the milk shop. Maybe I stop by the paper store and buy pencils," Erik answered, "I won't be back as long as this shop is open and what are you going to do about it, Madame?" He hated himself for being so very childish. This was absolutely immature and he knew it. "Tell Gontier? I guess you wouldn't. And do you know why? Because if I lose my comfortable job here it is back to the gutter for you and your family too - so you better cover up any misdeeds of mine!"

Erik secretly berated himself for this. How could he disgrace himself like this now?

Madame Buquet got up from her seat and stood before him - far too close for his tastes but be refused to back away - and looked up at him. "You will not corrupt me. I'd rather starve than breaking my word or the law," she stated firmly.

He felt like he was shrinking before her as he felt himself blushing with shame. "I am sorry, Madame. That was really uncalled for." He went to the counter and opened a drawer, taking out the list with the special orders. "The clocks with music boxes... I guess I better start with these now. Thank you, Madame." He disappeared back to the workshop.

"No walk today?" Dede asked disappointed.

"I'm sorry, no. I have work to do," Erik explained, "But you could do me a favor, will you?" The three men nodded. "Good. I'll write you a list and you do the shopping. Ask Madame to come with you so the shopkeepers don't swindle with the change."

* * *

Erik felt better being alone now. He needed some time to clean up his act and behave like the businessman he wanted to be. When he was working on one of the special music-box-clocks for a customer he heard one of the music boxes play in the shop. He had not heard the bell announcing the entrance of a customer so whoever was there hadn't used the door.

He got up and sneaked to the shop, opening the door silently. If there was a thief he wanted to catch him by surprise. It was no thief, it was just Maurice Buquet, he had taken one of the music boxes from the shelf and listened to the melody.

Erik sighed, put away his lasso and opened the door fully. "Hello Maurice," he said softly.

The boy jumped. "M...M...Monsieur... I...I... did not do anything..." he stuttered utterly terrified.

Erik sighed. Could he tell the boy that he was neither angry nor dangerous? Could he tell the boy whose father he had murdered that he was not dangerous? "Don't worry," Erik said softly, "I just heard something and wanted to check. You like the music boxes?"

"Yes," Maurice answered and backed away from Erik.

"Why aren't you at school?" Erik inquired. He had thought he was alone now.

"My teacher is ill. He said we should write an essay at home and give it to him tomorrow when he's better," Maurice answered.

"Then why aren't you writing?" Erik asked, feeling utterly ridiculous after his childishness the last days.

"I don't know what to write. I've never been good writing."

"Maybe I can help you?" Erik offered.

"I shall write an essay of what I will become in the future, what work I want to do, but... I have no idea," Maurice answered and opened one of the clocks, staring at the mechanism.

"What do you want to become?" Erik asked, curious.

Maurice shrugged. "Mother says I have to go to the factory for we do not have any money to pay any master to take me in as apprentice."

"Aren't there enterprises who take in apprentices without demanding a large sum?" Erik asked, as far as he knew there were professions who always needed workmen and would demand only some symbolic sum.

Maurice shrugged. "I'm not strong enough." He coughed. The cough hadn't gone away since he left the slums. Erik looked down at the boy. Maurice was far too small for his age and he was so very thin. This boy would never be able to work in road construction or anything like that. He would need a job were physical strength was not needed for this boy would always be weak and frail of health.

"I could teach you, if you like," Erik offered before he was thinking about the consequences of this offer.

Unfortunately this moment Madame Buquet entered the shop, Dede, Rene and Jules behind her carrying the groceries.

" **Maurice**! How often do I have to tell you to **stay away** from the shop!" she scolded.

"Madame, don't scold him - I was just..." Erik spoke up, not willing to stay silent.

"You, sir, stay out of this! This is **none of your business**!"

"But Mama, he offered to teach me..." Maurice defended himself.

"O no, he **won't**!" Madame Buquet turned to Erik, "You stay away from my children! If you were his master, your name would show in his certificate and he will forever be marked as the madman's apprentice. I will not allow you to destroy my son's future like that!"

Erik looked at Maurice. "Maurice, shall I ask Gontier if he's willing to accept an apprentice in his shop? Maybe not for three years but at least one year?"

"Monsieur Morriere, you have no right..."

"Madame Buquet, you have **no** rights here! I am discussing a apprenticeship with this **young gentleman** , so please stay out of this, **woman**. When men talk about business women better keep silent," Erik snapped. He was just quoting something he had read in a book. It was not that he disliked women or thought them unable to talk about business, certainly not, especially this woman was a very good shopkeeper, but he had no idea how else he could re-establish his dominance now. Officially she was in charge and he had not much saying for now and he absolutely hated this.

When he saw her biting back tears he felt guilty. "It would not be my name on his certificate. The enterprise is Gontier's," he reasoned, "And if Maurice does not like what I can teach him he can always try to find another job. The factories are always looking for workers... but being a watchmaker is better than a factory worker, isn't it?" He closed his eyes briefly. Three years. An apprenticeship is at least three years, maybe more. He would be bound for another three years when he felt restless after only a few month and wanted to move on.

Erik almost laughed at this thought. Move on? Where to?

Madame Buquet stared at him, obviously thinking this through. Finally she sighed: "If Maurice really wants that and Gontier accepts, then I won't refuse. But Maurice - think about this! Would you really want the man who murdered your father to be your master?"

Erik felt like he had just been kicked in the stomach. He considered taking a deep breath, but decided against it for fear he might not be able to control himself.

"Murder?" Dede asked, his eyes going wide. Rene and Jules just stared, open mouthed. "Murder?"

Erik wished the ground would open and swallow him up. Of course he had never discussed his past with them, but the way they stared at him now told him that they understood the word. "Dede..." he whispered helplessly.

The three mongoloid men put down whatever they were carrying and went to the workshop silently, only Jules was looking back at Erik. "Need think," he said, pointing to his head.

Erik felt lightheaded and unable to think clearly. "Madame, please leave me alone," he asked, sitting down at the chair behind the counter. He could not go on like this, he would ask the doctor to take him back to the hospital and stay there. There was no point in being free and trying to build up a normal life, he would never ever be free. His past was catching up with him again and again and he was not strong enough to face the consequences. He would be better off as guinea pig in a hospital for the insane.

He did not know how long he had been sitting there when he heard the door open and the steps told him it was Madame Buquet who entered the shop. She put down a cup of coffee on the counter, with much milk and sugar as he liked it.

"I thought you might need this," she told him, "As for your generous offer - will it still stand when my son finishes school in a few months?"

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik still had to learn, but he's doing quite well now, isn't he? Well - after some persuasion that is?_


	48. Confessions

**Education of the Heart**

 **Confessions**

Erik went to the workshop and started preparing something to eat. He looked at Dede, Rene and Jules who were sitting at the table, looking at him with their eyes large.

"You want to ask me something?" he said, knowing for sure what this was about.

"Erik murderer?" Dede asked, obviously not able to believe what he had heard.

Erik nodded and stared at the pot on the stove. He could not face them now. "It is true, Dede. I am a murderer. And a thief, extortionist and kidnapper. And a liar and fraudster." It was hard to speak it aloud. As long as he did not say it it was easier to pretend nothing had happened.

"But... murder is bad?" Rene asked.

"Yes, murder is bad. Very bad," Erik confirmed, not sure what to make of this.

"Why murder?" Jules asked.

Erik gulped, trying to find any answer to this. "I killed the stagehand Joseph Buquet. So I am a murderer and... that is a bad thing to be. I deeply regret what I have done."

"Kill us when bad?" Dede asked.

Erik spun round and stared at them in shock. "No! Of course I would never kill you! You are my friends!"

"Kill other men?" Rene asked.

"Not if I can help it, Rene. Please believe me - I do not want to do it again. I know it is difficult to trust me now, but... you are my friends, aren't you? You... I've been good to you, haven't I?" It sounded helpless and desperate, even to his own ears. He was begging them for forgiveness, to trust him and to stay friends. He needed them, needed them or he would be all alone again. They were the only human beings who really loved him. Everyone else just got along with him because they got some benefit from him.

Jules got up first, ran to Erik and hugged him affectionately. "Erik friend," he murmured, "Good friend."

* * *

Dr. Benevole was surprised when Erik asked to talk to him alone. Usually Erik would use his friends as some sort of moral support and distraction should he need to change the topic.

"I wanted to ask you to take me back to that little hospital and confine me there for the rest of my life," Erik confessed sadly.

Dr. Benevole's jaw dropped. His patient was doing so very well and he got reports from his colleagues who worked with other patients which were quite encouraging. Why would Erik - who was the first patient in this experiment and was doing exceptionally well now - would want to go back there?

"Dede, Rene and Jules... they found out I am a murderer. They love me nevertheless, they forgave everything but... the Buquet family. The boy, Maurice, he's fascinated by the things I make. He... wants me to teach him. I promised without thinking and now..." Erik held up his hands. "Do you think I can teach him? With these hands that choked the life out of his father? I am so very afraid I might grow to like the boy. What am I doing, doctor? I can't be this boy's mentor, I am the one who murdered his father! I am the last man who should be anyone's mentor."

Dr. Benevole took a deep breath. Nothing had prepared him for this difficult question but now Erik was there, asking for advise, and he could not let him down. But there was no answer to this question. "So you want to run away?" he asked, remembering Erik's first sentence.

Erik laughed humorlessly. "I do not want to exist any more but I can't take my own life, I can't run away, I can't do anything - I feel like a small boat on the ocean, I can't control anything now, I'm just drifting and I do not like where this is going. I just want to... shut myself away and never go out again."

"That did not work very well when you shut yourself away in the opera house," the doctor reminded him.

"That is something else altogether! I'm asking you to take me to an asylum and keep me there behind bars! Shut me in and be done with it - I give up."

Dr. Benevole was not sure what this was about now. He had seen Erik in this depressed state before, but never had Erik asked to be confined. He had only asked to be killed. Then another thought crossed his mind: "Tell me, are you just trying to avoid to take any responsibility for yourself? Right now you talk like a toddler, asking to be cared for 24 hours a day!"

Erik grinned. "Yes, that would be nice."

The doctor could not help laughing. He knew he was not keeping professional distance, he liked that man too much, but on the other hand he understood Erik's need to let go and have someone care for him for once.

"But your business is running good, isn't it? I asked Gontier, he's quite happy with that. Don't you like being a watchmaker? It is an honorable profession, isn't it?"

"It is working class," Erik spat, "And I could do so much more!"

"Now we are back to what? Day one of your therapy?" Dr. Benevole couldn't help getting angry. This was the same they had talked about for years. Erik felt he deserved better than what he got and refused to accept that being a genius wasn't enough - he would have to do hard work too to achieve his goals. If he had any idea what his goals would be, that is. Erik was constantly complaining that he was being denied - but right now he had a normal, respectable job, the complaints to the police were fewer and fewer, he was not accepted but tolerated to some degree in the neighborhood and there even were people who claimed to like him, like Gontier, Meunier, the doctor from the first floor, the tax adviser - they were not what one would call friends, but they liked him and treated him with politeness.

"And what would that be?" Dr. Benevole asked, "Do you even know that?"

"I know perfectly well what I want. I want to be manager of the opera house because I am the best qualified person in France for this job and I want Christine Daae as my wife!"

"O no," the doctor groaned, "Please tell me you haven't been stalking her again?"

"No. She wishes to marry that stupid glamour boy! By all means - let her. She's going to get what she deserves from him. Just wait and see. If he does not cast her out in the streets once he had had enough of her, he's going to betray her with every maid in his household and every ballet rat and chorus girl he could ever get. He's such a baby, I wonder if she will have to clean his..." Erik stopped himself. He was rambling on and didn't like it.

"You are jealous, that's all," the doctor told him, "You have no evidence for what you are accusing him of."

"Yes, I do! I heard him telling her what to do! He didn't respect her wish..."

"And you did?"

Erik shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "No," he admitted.

"Allright. Now that you have calmed down - what is it that you really want?" the doctor asked.

Erik chuckled. "Maybe I just wanted to bewail my cruel fate a bit. Thank you, doctor, I feel much better now. But the main problem still stands - Can I become a master, a mentor to Maurice? There is no law against this, but... I have a very bad feeling about this!"

"If you have such a bad feeling about this, why did you offer in the first place?"

Erik laughed bitterly. "Because I did what I always do - act first, think later, then try to find excuses and reasons. But I can't let the boy down now, can I? He's weak and of frail health. He feels he's the head of the family now, trying to replace his father - but he's so very young and he won't survive factory work for long. Tell me, doctor, what can I do without causing even more damage than I already have?"

"I am your psychiatrist. I can't make decisions for you and I certainly will not take responsibility for your decisions," Dr. Benevole informed him.

"But most decisions I made in the past turned out to be grave mistakes," Erik complained, "How am I to know if I am doing the right thing now?"

Dr. Benevole smiled. "You are close to being cured. You think about your decisions and possible consequences for yourself and others. Of course this is frightening - but what you experience now is what a boy usually goes through in adolescence. You somehow skipped that part of growing up."

"And this information is going to help me - **how**?" Erik asked. He still had no solution for his current problem.

Dr. Benevole sighed. He did not want the role of a father figure for his patient, who seemed to be older than himself. "What do you think is best for the boy?" the doctor asked, "If you were in his place - what would you do?"

"Kill that monster?" Erik suggested.

The doctor rolled his eyes and tried to stay calm. "If that is a joke it is not funny! I am serious, what would you do?"

"As am I. Do not think I take this lightly. Why does everyone think I have just a macabre humor? This is what I would have done. Or maybe not. I was a coward that time. Maybe I'd just duck down, keep quiet and do nothing. But I certainly would never ever want to work alongside anyone who killed any friend of mine!"

"Then there is your answer," the doctor told him with a smile, "Your idea that the boy would be a good watchmaker might be true - but there are others who could teach him."

"But neither I nor his mother have the money to pay any master watchmaker to take him in as apprentice!" Erik replied, "Any idea how I can get 2.000 Franc in two months time? I do not think the managers would lend me some money, if I asked nicely." Erik threw up both hands as he saw the doctor's shocked expression. "A joke. Just a joke. I'm done being an extortionist. Do you know how hard it was to explain to Dede, Rene and Jules what an extortionist is? They still do not understand why anyone would do something like that."

Erik leaned back in his chair. "So... what am I going to do now?"

"Go back and try to earn money," the doctor suggested, "I trust you to find a legal way to use your talents to earn enough."

Erik got up to check the doctors pulse. "No fever. Tell me, did you drink anything? Any drugs? Do you feel right?"

Dr. Benevole laughed. "I will miss you," he said.

"Miss me? Why?"

"When I declare you cured you won't need a psychiatrist any more. And now you are doing so very well, I think we do not need to see each other so often," Dr. Benevole decided, "So we will see each other once a months from now on. And if you are doing well... maybe next Christmas you are a free man."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Thanks for reading and please leave a review for me. ;-)_

 _Have a nice weekend!_


	49. Relapse

**Education of the Heart**

 **Relapse**

It was beginning of summer and Erik still had no idea how to find any other job for Maurice, who seemed to be eager to learn how to build the special clocks and music boxes. He even spend some time after school in the shop, studying the boxes. But whenever Erik tried to approach him, the boy started to stutter in his nervousness. Erik was convinced that, as much as he started to like the boy and his interest in tiny mechanics, he could not be Maurice's teacher. Never. And the fact that he started to like the boy only made everything worse.

He agreed with Madame Buquet that he would start teaching her son, but do everything he could to find another watchmaker or toymaker to take Maurice as apprentice. He was convinced that he was the last man who should become a mentor to Maurice. But doing nothing and allowing the boy to do nothing for weeks or maybe months after finishing school would be even worse.

The closer it came to end of term in school, the more nervous Erik became. He had not thought it would be that difficult to find an apprenticeship place for Maurice, no matter how hard his mother tried. Most masters demanded high payment to take the boy in and they did not have the money. In those professions where no high price for the education and training of the boy would be asked, Maurice would not be accepted for he was weak and of frail health. He would not be accepted as an office boy for he had bad marks in everything except maths. Someone who could not write properly was no use in an office.

Erik was working on a special order from a lady who wanted to have the tiniest possible pocket watch. It was hard to figure out just how tiny a pocket watch could be if it should still function properly. He had failed two times and was getting angry with himself for his miscalculations. "Monsieur, another customer is in the shop. It is someone new - he insists speaking with you," Madame Buquet announced.

"Allright, I am coming. And you," he turned to Dede, Rene and Jules, "You should take a break. The treadmill is only necessary while I am working. Relax, drink some water." The three men nodded. They were happy for running in the treadmill in shifts to provide the electric light Erik needed for working with the tiniest parts was very trying, especially in summer when the weather was hot.

Erik rolled down his sleeves, put on the cufflinks and straightened his collar before he put on his wig and cloak. In the workshop he preferred not to wear more than necessary but facing customers he had to make himself presentable somehow.

He had never guessed whom he would meet in the shop. He would have known this face everywhere - the Vicomte de Chagny. Erik could not help studying the young man with pure envy. Raoul de Chagny was young, in his twenties, he was slim but well-muscled, he was blonde and blue-eyed and had a face that made one just want to make an oil painting for he looked like a greek god. Erik straightened his spine. He was taller, but this did nothing to make the younger men less beautiful.

"You are not welcome," Erik snapped. He had wanted to be cold, but he could not help the hatred and envy be heard in his voice. "Go away."

"I'm not afraid of you," the Vicomte said, it would have been more convincing had he not been playing with his handkerchief in his nervousness.

"Good. Now go before I give you a reason to fear me."

"Don't you want to know why I am here?" the Vicomte asked.

"No!" It was true, Erik did not want to hear anything, he did not care.

"I'll tell you nevertheless."

"You won't go? Very well, then leave. Goodby." Not very mature of Erik to rush towards the door. But he would rather run away than face his rival.

"Christine Daae is very sad that you stopped seeing her," the Vicomte called out.

Erik stopped as if he had been struck by lightning. "I keep away from her, isn't that enough?" Erik replied, his voice husky.

"She blames herself, thinks she's not good enough as a singer," Raoul told him.

"Congratulations, you win. She's going to give up singing and become your mindless little plaything now in exchange for food, shelter and clothing," Erik mocked bitterly, not sure if he wasn't mocking himself more than his rival, "And if you do not want her - I know how to repair things I found in the trash."

"That is exactly what I do not want," the Vicomte said, "I certainly do not want her to marry me because she thinks she's not good enough as a singer and has no other chance in her life. I want her to make her decision freely."

This boy had a noble mind - if it was true what he was saying. A beautiful face, a beautiful body, a rich aristocratic family **and** a noble mind - could there be anything worse? Erik felt as if he was being drowned in the bitterness of his envy.

"She always has a choice and she knows that," he replied angrily. Christine knew - had to know - how much he loved her. Of course she always could chose him, if she did not want the Vicomte. But this was just a dream, in real life no one would prefer a deformed man declared criminally insane, deep in debt for he would never be able to make up for his crimes, over a rich and good-looking Vicomte.

The Vicomte smirked. "Becoming your wife? Surely you do not call **that** a choice?" He was not perfect and he could not gloating at his rival's fate - even if he felt that Erik deserved to be locked away in an asylum or prison for the rest of his life, which seemed to be a fate worse than death.

Erik felt as if a dark curtain was falling around him.

He blinked and shook himself, trying to clear his vision. Someone was holding his arms, he could feels someones grip on his arms. He blinked again and found himself towering over the Vicomte who was on the floor at his feet. Someone was screaming, he heard this as if it was very far away. It took some time - time seemed to freeze around him that moment - and his hearing became better along with his vision. The Vicome's nose was bleeding and there was more blood in his hair. His throat was bruised. The screaming became more clear and suddenly Erik realized that it was Dede who was yelling at him. Dede stood next to him and held his right arm. Rene was to his left and held his left arm, Jules was on the floor and had wrapped arms and legs around Erik's left leg to keep him from moving.

"No murder! Erik no murder! No!" Dede pleaded with him.

"What...?" Erik asked, his voice shaking and hoarse as if he had been screaming on top of his lungs. He blinked and tried to remember what had happened just moments before but all he could remember was the Vicomte insulting him and then - nothing.

The grip of his three friends was becoming painful. "You can unhand me. I won't do anything now," Erik promised and they obeyed. Rene's left eye was swelling, Jules had a cut on his forehead and Dede's hands were bruised. Erik tried to remember if he had hurt them, but he could not recall anything. "Are you hurt?" he asked worriedly.

"He hurt," Rene said and pointed to the Vicomte.

"O God!" Erik knelt down next to the Vicomte, examining the young man. His nose was bleeding but not broken. He had a wound on the back of his head as if he had fallen backwards to the floor and his neck was bruised. Erik shuddered as he saw just how well his hands fitted the bruises. Had he tried to strangle the Vicomte with his bare hands?

"Monsieur, do you hear me? Monsieur?" he asked worriedly. The Vicomte groaned. At least he was alive. Erik would have never thought he would feel such a warm wave of relief wash over him at the knowledge that the Vicomte was not dead. Not dead. He had not killed.

"Monsieur de Chagny?" he tried again and this time the Vicomte opened his eyes. "Sir, can you see me? Do you hear me?"

"...sick..." the Vicomte mumbled and Erik hurried to turn him over to his side so he would not suffocate if he really was sick. He was.

Erik looked around helpless. His three friends had obviously taken cover behind the counter. Only now did he notice that Madame Buquet was standing in the door that lead to the corridor which lead to her flat and the workshop. Her face was white and she was trembling. "He needs a doctor!" Erik yelled. He had not meant to yell, but his voice did not obey him now. "Call a doctor! Now!"

The Vicomte tried to say something. "Hush, it is allright," Erik tried to use his most angelic voice to calm the young man, "Everything allright. The doctor will be here soon and you'll be better." He moved to hold the Vicomte in some half-sitting half-lying position to ease his breathing and help his sickness.

Madame Buquet did not come back, she was too shocked at what she had just witnessed. Instead the female doctor from the first floor entered the store. She didn't even ask what had happened, it was obvious to her. She started to examine the Vicomte immediately. "Bruises and a severe concussion. Minor damage to trachea, it will heal in time."

"Do we need to take him to the hospital?" Erik asked.

The doctor gently started to clean the Vicomte's wound at the back of his head. "No. What could they do for him in hospital? Put him to bed and wait for the concussion to get better. I think he will be more comfortable at home."

"Monsieur? Is your carriage waiting nearby?" Erik asked, still trying to sound calm and comforting.

"No. I... my horse is tied to the post," the Vicomte said.

Erik turned to have a look. A white steed was waiting there. "The white steed? You can't ride with a concussion. We better call a cab."

The Vicomte coughed. "Give him some water, lukewarm!" the doctor ordered and Erik went to the workshop for a bottle of water and a glass. Dede, Rene and Jules were sitting on Dede's bed and stared at him. He could not face them now, he was ashamed of himself and frightened. Hadn't the doctor told him that he was cured? Then why had he lost control like that - and could not even remember what he had done?

The Vicomte was able to swallow a bit of water. "Sir? Do you feel well enough to try to ride a carriage?" Erik asked.

"I think so," the Vicomte answered and tried to get up, but the doctor pushed him down again.

"O no, you can't walk alone now. First, we need a cab, then I will accompany you, just to make sure nothing bad happens. Monsieur Morriere - go find a cab!"

"Yes, Madame." Erik was glad that someone told him what to do, so he did not have to think. He was too confused, he better not even try to think now. Just act.

It was not easy to find a cab, he had to walk some streets until he found a cab and told the driver where to go. He helped the Vicomte to climb into the cab and asked the driver if they could tie his horse to the carriage. Erik knew the old doctor would look after the injured young men during the ride, but who was to deliver his horse? Erik did not even think about the possibility to ride the horse himself, he could not do this. He could not accompany the young man home and face his family after nearly killing him.

When the cab started slowly, Erik decided to clean up the mess. Blood and vomit on a wooden floor would do no good. He was still busy cleaning up when Claude Meunier, the policeman, showed up.

"What do I hear about you now, Erik?" Claude asked in a highly amused tone, "Killing young men now instead of women? And - worse of all - yelling and thus disturbing the well-deserved nap of your neighbors?" He had heard so many complaints about Erik that he did not believe this one.

Erik sat back on his heels and stared at Claude in shock. "Let me clean this up and then you can arrest me," Erik said sadly.

"Where is your shopkeeper? Isn't it her job to clean up?" Claude asked.

"Running off in fear," Erik sighed and continued to scrub the floor. He was serious, he was quite sure Madame Buquet was still running.

Only the policeman did not take any of this serious, he chuckled: "You and your black humor. Let's discuss this over a beer, shall we?"

Erik shuddered. It was a disgusting job to clean up the mess and the mere though of having to drink a beer now on an empty stomach made him cringe in disgust. He got up to fetch a beer for the officer, but he would not drink one himself.

"What is it, Erik, are you not well?" Claude asked worriedly and took a seat.

"No... Claude, please, don't ask me now," Erik sighed, "I have too much on my mind, I cannot think clearly right now."

Claude drank his beer in silence, watching Erik cleaning the floor. "You are not scrubbing off blood, are you?" he asked, more serious now. Erik's behavior was far from his normal clownish way to make fun of his bad reputation when dealing with the police.

"Claude, please! A customer was sick, that is all I can tell you now for I do not know more myself."

"The yelling?"

"I can't remember yelling or trying to kill anyone," Erik answered truthfully. He really had no idea what he had done and that scared him more than he cared to admit to himself.

"Very well. Thanks for the beer. I guess this one goes to the file as ' **rumors and assumptions** '," Claude answered and left.

Erik stared at the door as it closed behind the policeman. This was not really happening, was it? He had been arrested far too many times when he had done nothing, once even been beaten up in the interrogation, and now that he was guilty no one would arrest him for everyone thought this was just another defamation. He sighed. It was just a question of time until the Vicomte would now use this to destroy him. Every minute now the door could open and someone would arrest him.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik's temper gets him in trouble again. But the Vicomte really did provoke him, didn't he?_


	50. Confrontation: de Chagny

**Education of the Heart**

 **Confrontation: de Chagny**

Erik waited to be arrested before the female doctor would return to the neigborhood. But nothing happened. The doctor came in his shop and told him to refund the costs for the cab she had paid. Erik reached for the cash desk and handed her the money without thinking.

"I guess you are going to send me a bill for his treatment too?" he asked as he noticed there was not much cash left.

"Maybe," she answered and took a seat, "But first you could offer me some tea."

"Of course. Where are my manners?" The situation was more than absurd. He was preparing tea for the female doctor who had just saved his latest victim and obviously not called the police.

Dede, Rene and Jules had calmed down enough to accompany Erik to see the doctor. They greeted her like a child greeting his grandmother, obviously they already loved her. Erik wondered how easy it was for them to love someone.

"Tell me," the doctor asked seriously, "What happened? Why did you try to kill this nice young man?"

"He's the one who's going to marry the woman I love," Erik answered, "When he... mocked me, I lost control." He would not admit that he still could not remember what he had done.

The doctor noticed the bruises on his friends faces. "Looks like they somehow got involved in that fight," the doctor observed, "I better see to them."

Erik said nothing. He was ashamed and confused. The old doctor examined the three men, cleaned their wounds and opened her large hand-bag which always contained a large box of cookies should she meet children. She loved children and all all children loved her - especially because she always had some sweets for them. In that the mongoloid men were no different from children.

"No punish," Dede asked the doctor, "No punish Erik. Erik sorry. Erik sorry."

The doctor glared at Erik who leaned against the counter, his head down, crying in shame. He had hurt them and they were begging for mercy for him. "I did not want this," he whispered, "I am so sorry."

"Do not worry," the doctor gently told Dede, "I won't tell anyone. There you go - you are such a brave young man. I know this hurts."

"Madame, thank you. For everything," Erik said in a low voice, not sure if this was to be the last time he saw the old woman.

* * *

Despite Erik's fear of being arrested any moment now he did not even try to run. He was too deeply troubled by the incident to consider fleeing from the authorities. He was prepared to be arrested and taken to prison, he already had rehearsed a little speech he would give in his confession - mainly stating that he had asked to be confined in a hospital but no one had thought this really necessary. It was the best chance he had now only to be confined in a hospital and to avoid a trial and a verdict.

When nothing happened the next three days - except Madame Buquet being horribly jumpy around Erik and avoiding him despite his efforts to be as polite and gentle as possible - Erik draw the conclusion that the police simply had not been informed of his misdeed by that time. There had been one complaint - and this had been laughed off because it must have come from someone who had falsely accused Erik before. And the Vicomte had not spoken with the police or the magistrate.

Erik decided that he could not just sit there and do nothing. It drove him mad to wait for being arrested. Should he go to the doctor and tell him about his fear that he really was going mad now because he could not remember what he had done? Or would that only make everything worse? He could get away if the Vicomte would not press charges against him.

There was but one way to know for sure - he had to go there and beg his rival's forgiveness. That - or live with the constant fear that the police might arrest him any moment now.

This time he was determined to do everything right and play by the rules. At least he would prove to himself that he could act like a normal man, even if it would not help his cause much if he would have to stand trial. He would do this like a man and not like a savage or a criminally insane.

Madame Buquet jumped as Erik entered the shop.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to startle you," Erik said. When she did not reply anything he went on: "Since Gontier appointed you my boss and did not revoke his decision yet - may I have a day off?"

"You... are asking?" Madame Buquet did not trust her ears. She had never expected Erik to actually obey orders.

"Please."

"Business is bad and you plundered the cash desk. You know how much you owe Gontier now?" she replied.

Erik nodded. "Too much. But the shop is not a loss, isn't it?"

"The correct answer for the tax authorities or the real numbers?"

Erik barked a bitter laugh. "The real numbers, of course."

"Why do you need a day off?"

Could this get worse? Why was this woman sticking her nose in his affairs? Wasn't it humiliating enough to have to ask her for a day off? "The Vicomte de Chagny... I have to talk to him."

"You nearly killed him."

"I am well aware of this. So, can I have a day off, please?"

* * *

It was not easy to walk the streets at daytime. In his neighborhood Erik was more or less seen like a vicious dog who should not be allowed to roam the streets freely but would not be put down for he was the pet of some powerful figure. But in other parts of the city his mask drew more attraction and he had to face being stared at and mocked again and again.

Since he tried to make himself look less intimidating, he wore a brown suit and brown hat along with a beige mask and a fitting beige shirt. His cravat was another kind of brown than the suit, but fitting. Being less scary came with a cost - he had to endure not only stares and mockery, some people felt compelled to push him away if he did not get out of their way in time. Usually the lower one in hierarchy had to clear the path for the higher ranking one and he felt belittled having to be the one to get out of everyone's way, even leaving the sidewalk and stepping into the street sometimes.

The more elegant the quarters were, the less shoves and open mockery but the more stares.

When he stood before the large iron fence that protected the house of the de Chagnys he fought hard to suppress the urge to run. Behind the iron fence was a green hedge, behind that obviously a beautiful garden and in that garden a large house that could easily be called a palace. Baroque architecture, he noticed. Of course. What else was to be expected of this family?

* * *

Erik shuddered, feeling cold despite the sunshine. He rang the bell and waited. A servant opened and told him to go away. What else could he expect than to be turned down at first sight?

"I have to speak to the Vicomte," Erik answered.

"You can give me the message," the servant answered, still not opening the door.

"No, I cannot. It is just between him and me," Erik retorted. He would not discuss this with a servant, it was bad enough as it was now.

"If you give me your calling card I will inform him," the servant told him condescendingly.

He had no calling card, never needed one before. "Tell him that Erik Morriere is here."

"Who?"

"Morriere"

"You are not on the list of suppliers," the servant tried to send him away again.

"I have to discuss a **private** matter with him. Open the door **now** and let me in!"

"I will ask him if he cares to see you," the servant's tone was even more condescendingly than before and Erik was absolutely sure that this man would not bother the Vicomte and tell him about the visitor.

Erik decided to open the delivery entrance door at the backside of the house with a picklock as soon as the servant was out of sight. He would not be turned down, not in this way!

* * *

Sneaking in was one thing - but at daytime in a large household with many servants he was spotted soon and of course confronted who he was and how he had been able to enter the house. Since he already was in the house he would not leave. The servants tried to persuade him, but did not dare to touch him and force him to leave - they were servants, not bodyguards, and certainly would not risk a fistfight with a man who was obviously crazy - who would wear a mask and break into a house at daytime when everyone would be awake and working?

"I told you I have to speak to the Vicomte! He wanted to see me a few days ago - he **wants** to see me!" Erik insisted, trying to control his temper. He had not guessed it would be so difficult just to get to talk to someone.

"What is this about?" a commanding voice interrupted the discussion Erik was having with five male servants, some female servants standing there gawking.

"Sir, this man just broke into the house. He claims that he had business to discuss with the Vicomte, but we already turned him down and told him to leave," one of the servants explained.

Erik nervously straightened his jacked as he looked up at the man who was slowly walking down the staircase. This man looked much like the Vicomte, only older. His father? No - this must be the Comte de Chagny, elder brother to Raoul de Chagny.

"Kindly tell me what you are doing here?" the Comte addressed Erik and took care to stay on the staircase so he could look down at the masked intruder.

"Making a fool of myself obviously," Erik answered. He knew he was behaving really stupid. "I **have to** talk to the Vicomte de Chagny. I **can't** be turned down."

"You talk with extraordinary rudeness and audacity. I shall call the police." The Comte did not show any emotion. Whatever he was thinking, he hid it perfectly behind the facade of aristocratic superiority.

"No! Please, Monsieur le Comte, I need to talk to your brother!" Erik could not hide his distress.

"He's not well."

Of course the Vicomte would not be well after a few days. "Sir, with all due respect - I have to see your brother," Erik replied, trying to make it sound really urgent.

The way the Comte studied him made him extremely uncomfortable. "You must be that mysterious rival of his," the Comte stated, "Your impudence is unrivaled. How dare you breaking into my house?"

Erik felt himself blush. This man behaving like a king made him feeling even more ashamed of himself, but that caused anger - anger that gave him the strength for an answer: "If you think I would be turned away like a beggar, you are mistaken, sir." He made sure to include icy politeness and not commit another lapse in his behavior. "And it was **your brother** who wanted to see **me**."

The Comte studied him shortly, then stepped aside a little, gesturing to a door. "We can talk in the smoking lounge."

* * *

Smoking lounge. Erik hated the wealth of this family. Their house was as large as a small theater - considering the vaudeville shows at Place Pigalle even much larger - and he was sure it had its own ballroom. A smoking lounge for a private home. What luxury.

The Comte took his seat in one of the upholstered armchairs. Erik coughed. The smell of cold cigar smoke in the curtains and the carpets and the upholstery was disgusting and made it hard to breathe. The Comte did not seem to notice the smell at all.

"You haven't been introduced to me," the aristocrat mentioned casually.

"My name is Erik Morriere," Erik answered. He did not like to give his name, but he had no choice.

"What I heard about you is not encouraging. I would have preferred that you stay away from my house." When Erik said nothing, just stood there looking down at the Comte, he gestured to a seat. Erik sat down, the stench of cold smoke was even worse now. He had to clear his throat but still felt like his trachea was constricting in an attempt to keep the smoke out of his lungs. "You tried to kill my brother."

"Actually no," Erik answered, surprised that this was the truth, "He provoked me and I hit him. I came here to apologize. And I want to know what he wanted to tell me. He came to me to discuss... something."

"This something might be called Mademoiselle Daae?" the Comte asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Save guess," Erik replied.

"You know that my brother is going to marry her?"

Erik nodded. "I know that. And I know that you did object, but reluctantly agreed to their union in the end."

"I see you are reading the gossip columns," the Comte dryly commended, "But if you think I will side with you against my brother you are mistaken."

"I never thought you would," Erik replied, taken aback.

"Then I guess you know that I agreed to their union and will welcome Mademoiselle to our family."

Erik shook his head. "I do not intend to cause any trouble for anyone. I just... want to apologize to your brother. Then I'll never return here unless invited."

"He won't press charges against you, you know," the Comte informed him, "I still wonder why Mademoiselle is begging him to help you, to spare you despite everything you did to them."

"She's... what?" Erik had thought she would be eager to forget him.

"You do not know?" Comte de Chagny was surprised.

"Know what?"

"Who donated the large sum that got the experiment at the medical University started?"

Erik paled. What did the Comte de Chagny know? "Was that... you?"

The aristocrat nodded. "Mademoiselle pleaded with my brother to help you and he came to me - well, it was **I** who made everything possible. I have to admit that my first idea was to support you so you could pursue Mademoiselle and lure her away from my brother. But when I saw how madly in love with her he was - he was willing to help you just to please her and he wants her to be happy so much he even wanted to talk you into teaching her again, offering payment for music lessons - I could no longer stand in his way. To be perfectly honest - I do envy him that he is able to love her so much and trust her like that. I would never trust any mistress of mine to be alone with my rival, but he does. They share something special, a unique love - they would give their lives for one another."

Erik coughed again, but this time to hide the choked sob that escaped his throat. He could not actually name the feelings he was going through right now but all of them were painful. He would not cry before this man, he had to control himself somehow. So he got up and opened the window, breathing in the fresh air. It was as good an excuse like any other to turn his back to the Comte.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _There is more than one de Chagny - hands up, whom did I fool with the title of this chapter? ;-P_

 _Some of you may remember that in chapter 2 the doctor casually tells the magistrate about a generous donation to the University to fund the experiment. (I wonder how many of you are going to look it up now.)_


	51. Confrontation: Raoul de Chagny

**Education of the Heart**

 **Confrontation: Raoul de Chagny**

The Comte himself led Erik to the rooms of his brother. Erik was bright red with shame and deeply humiliated by what he had just been told. The only reason he was free and not in some prison or in his grave after being beheaded in public was that Christine had begged his rival to pay for his treatment. Not directly, but the donation made everything possible. And it was more than easy to guess why Raoul had not pressed charged against him now and there was a chance he would never do so - despite everything. Because Christine had begged for mercy for him.

In that moment Erik would have preferred to be dead and buried.

"Raoul, brother, Monsieur Morriere is here - he wants to see you," Count de Chagny called and knocked at a door. The door was dark massive wood and the doorknob golden.

"A moment," came the answer. The voice of the young man was still affected, but he seemed to be quite well given the circumstances.

The door was opened. The Vicomte wore casual clothing as one would expect from a man who was at home to recover from an injury, but even they were made of the finest fabrics available.

"Good day Monsieur," Erik greeted and finally remembered to take off his hat. He had completely forgotten about that before.

"Good day," Raoul answered coldly, "Come in."

The room was certainly not some private room. It looked more like yet another salon where one would invite business partners. Large oil paintings covered the walls. A clock was ticking loudly. It would need some repair work, something was wrong with the ticking.

They stood there, Raoul staring at Erik who kept his eyes at the clock as if he could somehow stop it from ticking with his glare.

"Do you want me to stay?" the Comte asked his brother.

"No, thank you very much," Raoul answered, still studying Erik. The masked man was trembling and the way he twisted his hat in his hands betrayed his distress.

The Vicomte sat down. "No need to stand before me like a servant," Raoul said and gestured to a chair. Erik sat down and forced himself to look at the young man, but said nothing. He could not find any words now. The carefully rehearsed apology seemed unfitting now.

"I did not expect a sickbed visit from you," Raoul stated.

Erik smiled awkwardly and stared at the carpet. It was a beautiful piece of handicraft and surely expensive. He cleared his throat. "Monsieur, I came here to apologize," he began, but suddenly forgot what else he had wanted to say.

"You tried to kill me," Raoul said, "Why?"

"Why? You provoked me, insulted me!" Erik snapped, then took a deep breath and tried to control himself again. "This does not justify what I did, of course, but... well... I cannot really remember what I did to you."

"My memory of that day is hazy as well," Raoul admitted, "It is entirely possible that I was not at my best behavior."

"I have been informed that you intend not to press charges against me," Erik asked awkwardly, "and I am grateful for that, but I can't help wondering why?"

Raoul suddenly became sad. "You really do not know? Christine was shocked when she learned what you had done to me but asked me not to go to the magistrate for that would cost your life. She asked me to have mercy, or, to be true, begging me to have mercy with you if I loved her. She is fond of you, you know."

Erik shook his head sadly. "But she wants to marry you and not me," he sighed, "And at last I am willing to accept that. But she can't have both of us. I cannot be 'just a friend' to her. She... does not understand this. That's why I gave up teaching her."

Raoul smiled sadly. "She thought it was her fault and that you gave up because her voice was insufficient and she not worth your attention."

"O no," Erik groaned, "So **that** was what you wanted to discuss with me."

Raoul nodded. "Yes. She... she thinks she has to marry me because she does not have any other chance to survive for she thinks she is not good enough for a career as a singer and when she gets older she would be fired anyways. But I do not want her to marry me because she needs me to provide for her. I want her to marry me purely out of love and nothing else."

Erik smiled awkwardly. "I wouldn't care why she would marry me - if she only would!"

"But I do care, Monsieur. The only one who can assure her that she is the best soprano in France is you. She does not believe anyone else in that. She said all her success in the opera was just because you blackmailed the managers and she would never have made it alone." This was not really wrong - they would never have given her a chance if not for the threats and intrigues. But she was the best, there was no doubt. Erik kept quiet, not knowing what to say.

The Vicomte went on: "Whatever you did, you completely destroyed her self-confidence and now she is unhappy. I can't stand to see her suffering. I want to show her that she can do it alone without your help through blackmail or my help as a patron. I want to show her that she can do it just because she is such a formidable singer."

Erik shook his head. "O my. You are even more naive than she is. There is no fairness. Carlotta payed for her career in the beds of her lovers. Now that the audience loves her because she already is named a prima donna by the press she gets the roles. Christine would always be ignored in favor of some second-rate harlots."

"Christine never described you as that pessimistic," Raoul replied.

"Just being realistic. Now - you want a miracle and think I could help you with that. How?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the genius?"

Erik chuckled. "I'm a charlatan," he confessed, "And I have no idea how to create an absolute fair audition. It is impossible. The managers will always put the journalist's and the patron's interests before the true quality of the performance. And if you as a rich patron interfere she will always think that you bought her the role with a generous donation."

"At least we agree that Christine needs to do this for herself or she will forever doubt her voice," Raoul said.

"Your brother... he said you would even be willing to pay me for giving her lessons?" Erik asked.

Raoul nodded sadly. "She loves these lessons so much. She needs music. Not the stress of rehearsals, intrigues, stage fright and performances and the utter panic when some stupid journalist thinks only bad criticism is good criticism. Only music itself."

"Music in its pure form," Erik nodded, feeling odd that this boy should understand what he was talking about, "What do you suggest?"

"I suggest, Monsieur, that we put aside all our personal hatred and give Christine the choice - free from all pressure." The way he furrowed his eyebrows when he said the word "pressure" made perfectly clear what he was talking about. To Erik's envy the young man looked rather like a dachshund puppy. Why did some people look ridiculously soft and good even when angry? Why did he himself look terrifying even if he tried to be as loveable as possible?

Erik got up and put on his hat. "I am sorry, Monsieur. I can't. What you suggest might be in the best intentions, but I can not help you. Good day."

"Wait!" Raoul held him back, "I want you to hear me out before you refuse."

"Last time I refused to talk to you and you insisted did not work out well for you," Erik reminded him. It was not intended to be a threat, but sounded like one nevertheless.

"All I ask is that you tell Christine that you did not stop her lessons because her singing was not good enough. She needs to hear that and she needs to hear it from you or she will doubt herself forever."

Erik fought with himself. Would he be able to do that? To be - one last time - the Angel of Music for her? And then? She would sing - and he would not even be able to hear her. Maybe he would read the critics. And then? She would marry the Vicomte, not him. He would not see her again, and if, then from afar - she would be far from his grasp for all time. But if he did not do it - she would still marry the Vicomte. Only that the chance that she would be happy was a bit lower. "I cannot answer this now," he said and turned to leave.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Another blow to Erik's pride - Christine begged Raoul to spare him. But he can't make any decisions now, he needs time to think._

 _Have a nice weekend! Next chapter will be up next week!_


	52. Taking Appropriate Steps

**Education of the Heart**

 **Taking Appropriate Steps**

Dr. Benevole hadn't thought he would see Erik before his appointed next session but Erik came and insisted in talking to the doctor, he even accepted to have to wait for two hours before he could see the doctor.

"Erik, I thought you have weeks until you have to see me again?" the doctor stated.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I am far from being cured. You mustn't declare me cured or even not dangerous," Erik answered sadly.

"Why not?" Dr. Benevole asked, suddenly terrified Erik might confess a murder now. What Erik did confess to was not much better. Attempted murder in a fit of such a terrible rage he had no recollection of the deed itself. When Erik finished his tale - this time he gave the doctor every detail truthfully - he sat there, biting his nails again, staring at the floor. They were both silent for a rather long time.

Dr. Benevole was the first to come out of his thoughts. "Thank you for your honesty," he said, "You know that I have to put this down in the files?"

Erik nodded. "That's why I told you. I was shocked myself by this... blackout. Maybe I am dangerous, even if I try not to be. It is not the first time this happens to me, but usually I just did not care and tried nothing to prevent it from happening."

"You asked him to go away?"

Erik nodded. "I even tried to run away myself for I knew this could only end badly." He sighed. "Tell me what to do now, doctor? If you tell Clemenceau he will have me arrested and I will have to stand trial - after all I've been through, after all I've endured - it has been in vain. I will be sentenced to death or a life-long prison sentence, which is even worse. What can I do now, doctor?"

Dr. Benevole thought about this. He didn't like to consider his experiment a failure - after more than two years. Erik had made such a good progress and was actually able to know the difference between right and wrong, he was able to earn his living in an honest job - if one would put aside the tax fraud but to the doctor's experience that was a crime committed by almost everyone who had any chance to do so - and he even helped others, he seemed to see himself as the guardian of the three mongoloid men and was caring for them as if they were his sons. "I'm thinking about this," the doctor told him.

"About what? If I should be arrested right now or if you can risk me roaming the streets a few days more? Or about how I can help Christine Daae, how I can undo the damage I did to her?"

"Now that is really not an easy task," the doctor confirmed.

"That's the understatement of the year," Erik grinned awkwardly, "There is no right or wrong in this now. If I go back to her I'm afraid I'll only prolong our suffering. If I do nothing she will never make her breakthrough as singer. There is a difference between being a primadonna who could sing in any opera house or concert hall in the world and choosing to get married or being a soubrette who would be always dependent on her patron's goodwill to survive." Erik shook himself like a dog coming out of cold water. "That insufferable glamour boy is right. The choice she has to make is not between him and me - if I was in her place, I certainly would never take me - the choice is between a career or a marriage. And if she can't make that choice freely she will not be happy. That and... well, I like to think that it somehow balances the power structure of their marriage if she does not need him but gave up something valuable to become his wife. I like to think that in their marriage it would forever be her who is the one to wear the trousers."

The doctor was surprised by this sudden mood-swing of his patient. After admitting to having had a blackout and nearly killing a man he was now acting as if he was up to seeing the woman again he was still obsessed with and acting as her teacher before - more or less - giving her away as the bride to his rival. This was more than unexpected. "And you really think you are up to that? After you just told me about your uncontrollable rage?" he asked not really trusting his ears.

"Well... no. I am up to nothing," Erik answered with an awkward smile, "But this has never kept me from doing everything."

Dr. Benevole laughed. "Still the old trickster, aren't you?"

"I prefer the term illusionist," Erik replied with an amused smile, "And I really would be happy if you would not have me arrested. I promise I will do everything - I am sure if you find a cure for my bad temper as well, many many people would be grateful..."

"Are you trying to tell me I should not tell Clemenceau but continue your treatment?" Dr. Benevole asked.

Erik shrugged. "It is not about what you tell him but how you do it. I punched my rival when he provoked me - is that so very unusual? If he weren't a Vicomte but a normal working class guy, do you think anyone would ever care?"

"It is not that you hurt him, it is the blackout that makes this serious!"

"As if I didn't know," Erik sighed, "And I agree that I need more treatment, but I am optimistic that I can overcome that problem too!"

* * *

Clemenceau was busy reading reports about a difficult case of post-robbery when his secretary announced that Dr. Benevole wanted to talk to him. He put aside the file and decided to talk to him first.

The doctor was not alone, Erik was with him, somehow hiding behind the doctor.

"What has he done now?" Clemenceau sighed.

"I have a request," the doctor stated, "We thought this experiment would be over soon, but it is not. He had a minor relapse and caused minor injury to a man. The good news is that his victim does not press charges but he came to me himself and asked for treatment. The bad news is... he has no recollection at all what happened."

Clemenceau did not know what to make of this. "So you admit that you are dangerous?" he asked Erik directly.

The masked man nodded. "Unfortunately yes. I can't remember what I did, I can assume from what I was told, but I am scared myself."

"Do you know what caused this blackout?" Clemenceau asked.

Erik shrugged helplessly. It was the doctor who answered for him: "I can guess. I thought him cured and was giving him a much longer leash. He himself told me it was too much for him but I guess I was too eager to present a successful experiment and misunderstood when he came to me for help - I thought he was just being lazy and unwilling when in truth he really could not cope. As a doctor I should have known better and I would really love to continue the treatment."

"How dangerous is he?" Clemenceau asked, "Monsieur Morriere, what exactly did you do?"

Erik sighed. "I wish I knew. I have no idea if I am dangerous, really, I tried to avoid that, I told him to go away, even tried to go away myself - please, do not arrest me now. There are so many obligations I have to fulfill, please, give me that chance!" He suddenly added to himself: "O my, I have to finish the watch for Piangi, he already payed and is still waiting..."

"And how do you think I could allow that?" the magistrate asked, "When you do not even know what caused the blackout? What if there is no one to hold him back next time?"

"I think this won't happen," the doctor said, "Not many men are so stupid to provoke him if he's already trying to leave the situation. That and... I guess we need to re-arrange the situation. He has too much responsibility now, we need to take some weight off his shoulders."

"I hope this is a joke, doctor?" Clemenceau snapped angrily, "Are you asking me to allow a dangerous man to roam the streets freely and do nothing?"

"I ask you to allow me to continue his treatment, that's all," the doctor said, "If necessary I'll have him in the hospital."

"Haha, that one was funny," Erik replied mockingly, "The security in the hospital is sadly lacking. I could leave whenever I want."

"Are you asking me to lock you up in prison?" Clemenceau asked surprised.

"No... not really," Erik sighed, "What I am asking is... can you please let me... just live my life?"

"He came to me of his own free will," the doctor reminded the magistrate, "And his victim does not press charges. There were no severe injuries and I am absolutely sure he learned his lesson and will stay out of trouble in the future."

The magistrate sighed. "And if I say no, then I guess the first one to come to my office and ask for mercy will be Madame Buquet, followed by Gontier and his nephew and Mademoiselle Daae? Whom else do I have to expect? The Girys? Meunier, who would terribly miss is beer for free?"

"The managers of the opera," Erik answered, "As soon as the organ needs to be tuned again."

"I want safety measures," Clemenceau answered, "I will have policemen keeping a tight watch."

"I guess I need to buy more beer..." Erik sighed, "Do me a favor - tell the policemen to make sure I do not drink beer, will you? Please?"

Dr. Benevole roared in laughter and even Clemenceau - who had read the doctor's regular reports - couldn't help grinning. "Go back to work before I reconsider!" the magistrate told them.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Rewievs on fanfiction net seem to have a problem now, but feel free to write a review nevertheless - I'm sure the team from ff net will solve the problem soon and the reviews will show up! :-)_


	53. the Bet

**Education of the Heart**

 **the Bet**

It was begin of August when Gontier suddenly stormed into the shop. "What have you done?" he demanded, confronting Erik who had no idea what his employer was talking about.

"What have you done? You hurt my nephew and took much more money than I ever allowed you to take! You embezzled money!" Gontier yelled.

Erik flinched. He had hoped to be able to earn enough to make up for everything before Gontier would ever notice. "I'm sorry. I have been able to make up for almost 60% so far... give me another month and we're even," Erik answered. It was the truth. His life consisted of nothing but work right now and he thought this very good for this way he did not have time to think about it.

Gontier looked at the boy, Maurice, who was dismantling an old watch and carefully studying the tiny wheels. "Hey lad - would you leave us for a moment?" he asked and the boy got up and left the workshop. Gontier looked around and saw his nephew and the other two men happily painting wooden boxes. "We have to talk, Erik. I heard that you hurt my nephew. I can't allow that, I'll take the three of them with me now."

"No! Please... don't take them away! They... they are happy here, they like their jobs and... I like them. Please do not..."

"They are coming back to live with me," Gontier decided.

"No!" Dede objected, "Don't want!"

"Why?" Erik demanded, he did not want to lose the only men who really loved him, even if he knew that he would forever have to care for them as if they were children who would never grow up.

"Madame Buquet told me what happened. You hurt them in a fit of rage, I won't risk that again," Gontier explained, "I do care for them. I will not allow you to abuse them."

"But... I need them. They are very... skillful cutting wood for the music boxes and painting that and..." Erik objected, "And of course I do not abuse them! I admit that I sometimes rise my hand against them, I'm not a patient man, but... I never ever really hurt them."

"I wonder why Madame Buquet allows you to teach her son?" Gontier changed the subject.

"She has no choice. Either that or no education at all. But she insists on the doors being open all the time so she hears everything we talk and could interfere any time. Not that I would ever harm any child, but... I understand her mistrust," Erik sighed, "Monsieur Gontier, please - do not take them away from me. They are all I have now. Please."

"Alright. You can work with them, but they will come back to live with me," Gontier decided.

"But..."

"Do you want me to complain to the magistrate that you stole money?"

Erik bit his lip and lowered his head. "No."

"Good! Now that this is settled - I do not think you need an apprentice. I agreed before I knew that you betrayed me. I trusted you, but I do not trust you now. The boy leaves."

"By all means! I would be happy if he found another apprentice position," Erik agreed.

"But that is none of my business, isn't it? If you want to play the guardian for the Buquet family, it is your private matter and I can't allow you to betray my trust for their sake," Gontier was adamant.

"Yes... you are right, but..." Erik shook his head. He had no idea what to do now, he had to be grateful not to be dismissed without notice. Suddenly he realized what that would mean to him and to the Buquet family. They would end up homeless and unemployed, all of them. "Please, sir, I'd do anything you ask - just... do not close down the shop. Please. I promise, I will make up for this..."

"How? You already owe so many people so much money, you can't earn that in the next twenty years," Gontier asked, but he did not seem to be angry any longer, there was something in his stance and his voice that told Erik that Gontier already had a plan.

"I'm not going to like it..." Erik mused, "But what do you want me to do?"

Gontier laughed. "You know about that bet the bank made?" Erik shook his head. He didn't have time to read the newspaper in the last weeks. "The bank has a new security system and challenged all men who would like to give a try to break it. In the safe are 5000 franc and the one who can get them within one night will be allowed to keep them. They want to test this new system that way. I already told them that I have an employee who takes that challenge. They boasted not even a ghost can steal from them - I think they are wrong."

Erik stared at the smaller man in shock. "No. I do not like this at all. I'm done being a criminal."

"Come on, it is legal."

"Legal or not - no. And whoever told you I was a burglar? I'm not - I've only been a charlatan and fraudster."

"We'd share the 5.000 - two for you, three for me and I forget about your cheating," Gontier offered.

Erik sighed. "Only if neither Clemenceau nor Benevole object."

"Since when do you care about the approval of authorities when doing anything?" Gontier asked highly amused.

"I just want to stay out of trouble - if possible for the rest of my life," Erik replied wearily. It was true, he had enough of adventures and fighting, right now he just wanted a quiet life - the more boring the better.

* * *

Dr. Benevole was not happy at first when Erik told him. He knew that Erik needed to care for his friends, it calmed him and as long as he felt compelled to act the teacher he wouldn't be up to any mischief. But he could understand Gontier as well - the man had heard about Erik having fits of rage and was worried about his nephew.

Clemenceau was even more angry when he was told by Dr. Benevole. "Gontier is a good businessman, but this is... like asking an alcoholic to work as distiller."

"As far as I understood Erik does not even want that. He told me he never fancied himself as a burglar or master thief. He said this is something he does not think he's up to and he does not even want to do it. Even if it is legal, he does not want to do it for the same reason you named - he's afraid he might like it," the doctor answered, "And that is exactly why I think we should not object. It is such a good sign that he is well aware of the dangers and asks my advise. But it is time that he starts taking responsibility for himself. We two won't be there to make decisions for him for the rest of his life. So we should not forbid it, just to make sure he has to make the decision himself."

"Sounds dangerous enough to me!" the magistrate protested.

"We knew from the beginning that this was a high-risk experiment about an untested theory," the doctor reminded him.

"Dr. Benevole! Sometimes I wonder if it is you who influence him or him who influences you. You surely lack the professional detachment," the magistrate rebuked the doctor.

"Yes, I am aware of that. But... all professionality aside... Do you think he would be able to break into the unbreakable bank?"

The magistrate allowed himself to grin. "That would be really interesting to find out!"

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Magistrate and doctor are only men - and they have human flaws as well. Hope you liked that chapter._

 _Next chapter will be up next week._


	54. Forgiveness

**Education of the Heart**

 **Forgiveness**

Erik was the last one to accept the challenge - and that only because he really needed the money. It would be good to have his debt with his employer settled and not being forced to teach the boy Maurice each day. Not that he did not like the boy, Maurice was fascinated by how the tiny mechanisms worked and skilled in putting them together, no, it was the constant reminder that he was teaching a boy whose father he had killed. He had to do it for the boy's sake.

Sometimes Erik wondered if this was harder on him than on the boy who seldom said a word.

Since Erik was no longer allowed to care for his friends as he liked to do, he felt lonely. He saw them, they worked with him two days a week and of course played with them, sang with them and continued teaching them, but it was the nights that were terrible. He started skipping meals again. With his friends they had started whining when they were hungry until he would feed them and himself. Erik really thought about eating the same way as he would about feeding animals. But his friends had so often made his meals something more - a time to share their thoughts and to have fun. It was this that he missed most.

Erik shook himself and addressed the boy. "Maurice?"

"Yes sir?" Maurice did not even look up from the tiny wheels he was sorting out. Erik had to admire the boy's concentration and eagerness to learn.

"Has your mother told you about the possibility to find a better apprentice place for you?"

"Hmmm-hm". This could mean anything but Erik took it as yes.

"Tell me, what would you prefer? Clockmaker, toymaker or maybe something like tailor or goldsmith?" Erik asked curious.

"This," Maurice answered and pointed to a new clock Erik was working on. It looked like a miniature doghouse and every hour a little dog would come out and run a certain preset course through the room. It was not ready for use yet, one had to wind it up almost every second hour, but it worked so far - the clockwork of the doghouse wound the dog up by its tail.

Erik sighed and decided to sit next to the boy. The boy flinched but didn't stop sorting out the tiny wheels. "Maurice, we talked about this... I do not think this is a good idea..."

Maurice faced Erik, his young skinny face contorted in anger: "Why? You would have any other apprentice - but not me! You would teach any idiot, but not me! This is not fair!"

Erik stared at the boy. "It is not about me - I guess it would be better for you..."

" **No**! I want exactly this! I want to learn how you make these things that seem to be impossible! Why would you deny me and teach anyone else?"

"Please be reasonable. I am in no way worthy to be anyone's teacher or mentor, and... you know who I am and what I have done. It is hard enough on your mother, there is no need for you to endure..."

Maurice cut in: "Now you decide what's good for me? You are not my father and I will not allow you to take his place! I am the man in this household, I make the decisions. No one but you can teach me this! This is exactly what I want to learn and nothing else! And if you refuse to teach me - this will not bring my father back to life, isn't it?"

The boy's rage came as a surprise to Erik. He had thought the child would be happy to get away from him as soon as possible. The opposite was true. "I understand. I will teach you everything I know about clockworks and mechanics," he answered before reminding himself again that he would have to ask Gontier if he would accept an apprentice. Well - that little man was a businessman, so he surely would not refuse the 2000 Franc he would get if he accepted Erik teaching the boy - 2000 for doing nothing? Which businessman in his right mind would refuse that? "Maurice?" he said almost shyly.

"Yes sir?" The boy was back to his normal politely-formal behavior.

"Please forgive me," Erik whispered wondering himself if he would ever stop feeling the need to apologize, knowing fully well that whatever he did would never be enough to even begin to make up for murder.

"Yes," Maurice said, not looking at Erik, not even stopping in his work.

"Yes? Just like that?" Erik could not believe the boy would forgive that easily.

Maurice put the tiny wheels in the right boxes as he answered: "Whatever I do does not make much difference, does it? So I can as well forgive you."

"It does make a difference, Maurice," Erik told him gently, "It gives me back the right to live. Thank you."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _A short chapter this time - I hope you like it._


	55. Challenge

**Education of the Heart**

 **Challenge**

Erik was terribly nervous as Gontier presented him to the managers of the bank who had offered the bet and the men who had invented the security system and the safe. Gontier was behaving rather like an impresario, introducing his main attraction at a fair - stirring memories that made Erik sick.

"So - this is the man you told us about?" a bearded man asked.

"Yes, that is him. And he accepts the challenge and I'm sure he will beat whatever measures you take."

Erik was not at all convinced he could to this. He was no master thief, why didn't anyone believe him? This was nothing he had ever tried before.

"Pleased to meet you, Monsieur," the bearded man said, "By the way - no need to hide your identity. This is absolutely legal."

"I... prefer to wear the mask, Monsieur, so please accept that," Erik stated, "I assure you I am not a wanted man or anything like that... it is just a matter of... **professionalism**."

"Suit yourself," the bearded man replied, "As to the rules: We provide the blueprints of the building. There will be five guards on irregular patrol and the room with the safe - marked with the red X - will be controlled every five to thirty minutes." He handed Erik the blueprints and another paper. "And this is the safe. It has a modern double key system and a code system. Only with both keys and the correct code one can open this safe. My colleague and I have only one key each. Well, it has been breached - in three to six hours. Not even the best cracksman could open it sooner and you will have only five minutes, thirty at the most."

"Sounds fair enough," Erik answered, "But... the guards... will they shoot me? I do not want to risk my life in a mere game."

"No. They won't shoot. And you are not allowed to hurt them - no striking them down, no fighting. If they catch you, you lose and give up."

"Naturally. I have no intention in hurting anyone or damaging anything - except that safe and some locks."

"By all means. You may as well dig a tunnel, if you deem it necessary," the bearded man informed him, "But our system is so good, I doubt a ghost could outmaneuver it."

"Not even a **ghost** you say?" Erik answered in an amused tone and found he highly enjoyed the game now.

"How much time do you need for the preparations?" the bearded man asked, "We want this as realistic as possible - naturally robbers have time to plan and prepare."

"A month would suffice," Erik answered without knowing anything about this. He had never been a master thief and never tried to rob a bank he had no clue how to do that.

* * *

Erik soon had to face the problem that Gontier - businessman that he was - didn't keep quiet about this and and soon an accountant accepted bets whether or not the mysterious masked man would beat the security system or not. The first ones to bet that he would were the managers of the opera house. In fact, those who assumed that the masked man who had accepted the challenge was the same man who had been the Phantom of the Opera, were convinced he would succeed, those who knew him to be the very same man for sure even more so. The only one who had very high doubts was Erik himself. This was nothing he had ever tried before - and the more people thought he would do it, the more nervous he became. He felt like a performer before the performance - the audience awaits a really magnificent performance and he didn't even have a clue what to do.

But giving up was no option now. Trying and failing would be shameful enough, giving up without even trying his very best would be utter disgrace. So he started to plan and plot - not like a master thief or a robber for he considered himself neither, but like a magician. It was all a trick, nothing more. He could do it.

* * *

The day came soon enough and the men who had invented the security system and the bank managers were so convinced they would win this game that they had invited witnesses and journalists. Of course the bank managers sold tickets to those who really wanted to be there and see first if he would succeed or not. Why miss any opportunity to make money?

Erik felt as if he was being sold. It was the same he had endured all his life - he was the one to do the work, to show his skills, even to be presented as an fascinating and terrifying exhibit, many people would gain much profit - and he himself would have to be grateful if he got a piece of bread and a bed for the night. He would get nothing for himself and it angered him even more now that he knew just how much money other men made. But he could not back out now - there was only one way to go and that was to finish what he had - rather unwillingly - begun.

The bank managers threw some sort of weird party. They had the men who bought tickets in the salon of the building where champagne and snacks would be served while they waited for the "robbery" to take place. At sunset they all went to the room in the cellar where the 5000 Franc were placed in the safe, the safe locked and then the managers disappeared briefly to hide their keys. They would not allow the masked man - dressed all in black with a black mask covering all of his face and his head covered with a black scarf and a hat - picking their pockets to get the keys.

Erik was at the party, rather nervous, even if he pretended to be bored because it was all just so very easy. He even started to entertain the guests with some slight of hand magic. The people who had placed bets that he would win became rather nervous seeing him not even leaving the party but staying and acting as entertainer.

"Erik, don't you want to... do something?" a rather nervous Gontier asked him.

Erik just shrugged and handed him his pocket watch back. Making them nervous was all he could do to have at least some kind of petty revenge. He only left the room two times but was back after a rather short time - far too short to break open a safe - and continued to entertain the guests.

Shortly before midnight Erik announced: "Mesdames, Messieurs, I think it is time to rob the bank, is it not?" A nervous laughter answered him and they all went together to the room with the safe, wondering where the guards might be, for they were nowhere to be seen.

Erik asked the managers of the bank to open the safe. They had to go to their offices first to get the keys, then they opened the safe which seemed to be unharmed. Only that inside was not the bundle of banknotes but one sheet of paper. " _Not even a ghost, you say?_ " it read in red letters Andre and Firmin immediately recognized. Erik noticed how the managers of the opera grinned at the bank managers.

"Told you so - our ghost can beat every security system your inventor can possibly build!" Firmin said and clasped the bank manager's shoulder. Erik's jaw dropped. Since when was he 'our ghost' and the managers of the opera seemed to be proud of him? What twisted humor was this now?

"You... did it. How? It is... impossible, you... you didn't even leave the room except for a few minutes..." the inventor of the security system stammered.

Erik took out the banknotes from Gontier's pocket, showed them to everyone and handed them back. "I won, that's what counts, isn't it?" He said with a sly smile and a theatrical bow.

It was Dr. Benevole - he was at this weird sort of party - who applauded the performance first. Gontier congratulated first. Erik noticed that Andre and Firmin were absolutely enjoying the astonishment of the bank managers - and already counting the sum they had won in the bet.

Erik started to look around to find out who might have placed a bet on him winning - these people were now close to the accountant. Erik laughed as he recognized Clemenceau and Meunier among them. Fine lawman they were!

"I won a fine sum tonight," the cheerful voice of the old female doctor announced. He hadn't even seen her in the audience before. Erik stared at her. "But I have to admit I had unfair advantage - I heard how your music changed from angry and frightened to cheerful and almost mocking. I knew you would make it." Of course. She heard him play.

* * *

The bank managers and the inventor of the security system asked Erik to their office. "Now tell us how you managed to beat our system!" they demanded, "It is absolutely fool-proof."

"Not ghost-proof it seems," Erik replied mockingly, "I have to admit that I did not break open the safe - I used the keys and the code."

"But... how did you...?"

"Get these? Easily. They are in the small safes in your offices. No one enters your offices but you, but... you do not clean them yourself, do you? Didn't you notice that a few days ago a new cleaning woman came instead of the old one?"

They stared at each other. Of course, the cleaning woman had access to any room in this building. They could kick themselves for their stupidity - only the two of them had access to every room, or so they thought. They had completely forgotten about the cleaning woman.

"She smuggled me in that night. So I got the keys, made an imprint in warm wax and put them back," Erik was very pleased with himself, "You see - the weak point in your system is the humans, not the mechanics. I could as well have kidnapped your children and blackmailed you into handing over the contents of the safe but that seemed to be rather extreme measures for just 5.000 Franc."

Erik enjoyed the terrified look at their faces, before he went on: "And the code - well, that was easy. You opened the safe to place the banknotes in it. I just paid attention, that's all."

"You stood with your back to the safe!"

"Yes. And with a mirror in my hand instead of a silver pocket watch."

"But... the guards?"

"Sleeping off the chloroform," Erik explained very pleased with himself, "As I told you - the weakest part of your system is the people, not the system itself." He certainly would not tell them that he had persuaded Madame Buquet to assist him in this - she had agreed for her son's sake, she knew how eager Maurice was to learn to build the special clocks and music boxes Erik made and as Erik had explained he needed the money so he would be allowed to keep the boy as apprentice - turning his original idea upside down - she had reluctantly agreed, knowing it was nothing illegal and no one would be harmed. "If it was not a game I might have killed them," he added in a tone as if he was telling a joke.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik has a very creative mind, doesn't he? I hope you liked this chapter._


	56. Reasons to Live

**Education of the Heart**

 **Reasons to Live**

A few days later Erik went to see Gontier. Madame Buquet accompanied him rather unwillingly. She was not happy with her son's wish to have Erik as his master and mentor, but she had to accept his decision. It was better than no education at all.

Gontier accepted the suggestion that he should keep the apprentice for a certain price - especially now. Erik's little show had created much publicity and many people went to buy something just to catch a glimpse at the masked man who had bested the best security system available. Erik was unhappy with that - again he was nothing but an oddity to be stared at. He made good money and the customers had the decency to buy something because they would never admit - not even to themselves - that they just wanted to stare at the curiosity like uneducated, rude people from the lower classes. But buying something in a shop from a gifted craftsman was nothing that would ever be considered bad behavior. But now Erik really needed help for he could not make enough watches and music boxes in time.

Before they left Erik asked again if he could have Dede, Rene and Jules back.

Gontier furrowed his brow. "Why do you care for them so much?" he asked.

"Because... they are my friends," Erik answered, "It breaks my heart every time I have to take them back to you for they beg me to allow them to stay."

"You know that you will have to care for them every day until they die?" Gontier warned him.

"I wouldn't want it in any other way," Erik answered seriously.

"They are... mongoloid. And they are about your age - you know that they do not have your life expectancy? They already have grown much older than mongoloids usually do," Gontier cautiously informed him, "They will need much more care in the future."

Erik had not known about that. He stared at Gontier and made a decision in a split second - without thinking: "Then I do not want to miss one day with them."

Gontier sighed. "You wouldn't hurt them again?"

"I'll try to keep my temper in check," Erik answered awkwardly.

"You will give them at least two meals a day?"

"Ahem... I... I'll try my best to remember that," Erik promised. He had become rather cautious what he would promise if he wasn't sure he would be able to keep his promises.

"Alright. They stay with me another two weeks, then we give it a try. Only the weekends at first, then, if you really treat them well, maybe more. Agreed?"

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

When they went home, Madame Buquet asked: "Do you really want to burden yourself with the responsibility to care for them and nurse them?" She had assumed that caring for the mongoloids was in some way part of Erik's job or a punishment of sorts. She had not known that he did this because he actually liked caring for them.

Erik seemed to be surprised by her question. "I do not consider that a burden." He was genuine. He liked teaching them and caring for them - and he cherished the way they loved him, were always ready to comfort him and cheer him up. They were like children and they loved him like children would love their father - even if he yelled at them, hit them, forgot to feed them - they just loved him despite all his flaws. He feared the day he would see them die and would be alone again.

Walking away from the dumping grounds they came through some dirty streets and then turned to go to a better area of the city where they lived now. Suddenly they heard a woman screaming and a few men laughing. In one dark corner four men had cornered a woman, who was obviously afraid of them.

Erik pretended to see nothing and walked even faster - Madame Buquet had to run to keep up with him. "Don't you want to help her?" she asked a bit out of breath.

Erik stopped so suddenly she bumped into him. He turned to face her and the coldness in his eyes made her shudder. "No," he answered.

"She needs help!" Madame Buquet insisted.

"I said no. She's a bar-maid from one of the drinking holes around here. Lower working class. The men are... sons of the upper class. If I try to interfere, what good would that do? Either I kill them and dispose of their bodies without anyone seeing me - which is highly unlikely - or they would accuse me of attacking them, the girl would run away and never show up again to testify in my favor. I would be the one to end up in prison for no one would believe me, not with my reputation and my past. **I do not want to die**."

"Then I go and help her, Monsieur coward!" Madame Buquet spat angrily.

"And do what? Provide them with a second victim?" Erik had grabbed her shoulders and held her back.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked. Her shriek was loud enough to startle the four men who turned their heads and saw a man holding a woman at the shoulders. They laughed and turned back to their own victim, thinking they weren't the only men who had gone out tonight with the intention to find a bit amusement.

Erik did not let go of her arms. "Only if you promise me you won't put yourself in danger. Your children need you," he said as a matter of fact.

Madame Buquet felt as if all energy was drained from her at once. He was right, she could not risk being injured herself or even worse for she would not be able to care for her children then and they were too young to live on their own or - heaven forbid - leaving it to the murderer of their father to raise them. "And... this girl?" she asked in a low voice.

Erik's eyes were sad. "Many women suffer that fate and most of them survive," he said sadly, "There is nothing we can do. Come on, I want to get home before someone decides that we might be interesting victims too."

* * *

When they were in the little shop and the door securely locked behind them, Madame Buquet asked: "Would you have helped one of my daughters if they were in that situation?"

Erik stared at her. "I hope we are never going to find out," he answered.

"Me too, but... would you? Or would you just walk away like today?"

Erik sighed. "I do not know. Maybe. Maybe not. Please understand that defending someone might cost my life and... I'm not willing to risk that for a stranger. You and your daughters... maybe... I hope I would have the courage do defend your honor."

"You hope?"

Erik nodded. "It would be right to give my life for one of you, wouldn't it? But - please forgive my openness - I prefer to live." He himself was surprised by this statement. Only now he had realized that there was so much he wanted to do. He had a chance to get his three friends back and even if he would not have them around much longer, he was determined to enjoy every day he would have with them. He wanted to give Piangi the watch - which still was not ready - and he wanted to see the Buquet children growing up. Especially Maurice had won his respect.

Erik heaved a deep sigh. He did not want to die, there was so much to live for. Even the rare piano dialogues he had with the old female doctor were worth living for. Maybe Dr. Benevole had been right. A man would not need a wife and a family of his own to have a life that was worth living. Maybe he could find something else.

"Madame... it has been a long day. Goodnight," Erik said formally before he went to his living space in the workshop. He looked at the empty bunk beds and smiled at the thought that his friends would soon move in again. He missed them so much.

Erik locked the door carefully and stared at the cupboard. To his own surprise he found that he was hungry. He didn't want to spend much time cooking so he just took a piece of bread and two apples. He ignored the bottle of wine and smiled to himself. Far too many evenings he had felt the need to drink to be able to relax after a long day, especially when he was alone. There was no reason to cook or eat if he was alone so he had often just drunk a few glasses of wine before going to bed. No more of that. Soon he would no longer be alone.

To his own surprise he realized that he had been able to live without Christine. He hadn't thought this possible, but he had not died and the doctor had been right - the longer he stayed away from her the pain lessened. He still loved her - ever would, he suspected - but it was not painful any more. Maybe he would be able to be the friend she needed. Not now, but maybe sometimes in the future.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Saving the damsel in distress is a tremendous risk - even if Erik is not worried those men would beat him, he fears the consequences if they accuse him of attacking them afterwards. Who would believe them, if the woman runs off and never testifies in his favor? He's on parole, so even the slightest misdeed could cost his life. It takes that danger to cause him to realize that he really wants to live._


	57. Teaching

**Education of the Heart**

 **Teaching**

During autumn Maurice became a real helper to Erik. The boy had an amazing talent for the tiniest mechanics, very good eyes and skillful hands. Soon he could trust the boy with the easier pieces which just needed to be put together according to a construction manual. Now Erik was happy that he had taken time to take notes and make such constructions manuals for his watches and music boxes for the boy was great help now that the shop was running rather too well. Erik did not have much time for anything but work, he even had to work on Sundays to finish the orders just weeks too late and not months too late.

Gontier had allowed him to take in his three friends again. When they had moved in, they had hugged him and Dede had brought a chain with him - goodness knows where he got it - and tied the four of them together for fear Gontier would ask them to go home again. They wanted to stay with Erik, it was much more fun with him for he always taught them new skills instead of just saying "Forget it, you're an idiot, you'll never learn anything."

Erik was working on another clock. It looked like a large grandfather clock with a small doghouse at its bottom. Every hour an automaton, looking like a dog, would come out and run a certain round through the room, then disappear again in its doghouse. The clock would wind up the puppy automaton, the tail was the key that would just fit perfectly into the mechanism at the back of the doghouse. The clock worked with more weights and pendulums than any other for it needed energy not only to operate the clockwork but the automatic puppy and its winding up mechanism.

He was on his large desk, putting together the mechanism of the automatic dog, when a knock at the door startled him. "It is Sunday!" he complained loudly but opened the door nevertheless. It was Maurice. "Maurice? What are you doing here?" he asked.

"May I come in?"

Erik stepped aside to allow the boy to enter the workshop. Maurice looked at the bunk beds which were not made and the table with used dishes from the breakfast. "I haven't had time to clean up," Erik explained embarrassed, "I guess your mother is the perfect housewife?"

"Hmmm-hmmm." This was Maurice favorite reply. It could mean everything and nothing.

"It is Sunday, why don't you enjoy your day off?" Erik asked curiously.

"I want to see you making the automaton," Maurice explained.

Erik went to his desk and continued to put the tiny springs and joints together. "Why don't you play with your friends?" he asked.

"I don't have any," Maurice answered and handed Erik just the tool he needed without being told.

"Thanks. But surely your family will want to enjoy this day as a family?"

Maurice grinned. "Four females discussing clothes and sewing, would you want that on a Sunday?" he asked.

"But even Dede, Rene and Jules are playing ball in the backyard," Erik said and nodded to the window. His three friends had their own ball game. They would not compete with each other but try to work together, throwing and catching the ball without letting it hit the ground.

"This is more interesting."

Erik sighed and gave up. "You are going to end up lonely," he warned the boy.

"I don't care. Tell me, sir, would it be possible to make something more than just a dog running in a circle?"

"I think this is pretty impressive," Erik snapped, annoyed that the boy obviously didn't share his enthusiasm over his new invention.

"It is. But... Couldn't there me more animals? Like one at one o'clock, two at two o'clock and so on?"

Erik thought about this. "No. The clock would have to be as large as a small house. But... What do you think of... a mechanic duck with chicks. Every hour a chick is added. The only problem would be that someone would have to take them back to the storage box after twelve o'clock, but it might work. We would need strong magnets."

They were still discussing and sketching the new clock when Dede, Rene and Jules came back, tired and hungry. Erik told them to go to the bathroom and wash before he would prepare dinner. They obeyed, but when Erik was still too absorbed in his work they decided to ask the doctor from the first floor for cookies.

So two hours later Madame Buquet entered the workshop. "Monsieur, Madame just brought back your friends. She said you might be worried about them," she said.

Erik looked up bewildered. "Is it already five o'clock?" he asked.

"It is close to nine p.m." Madame Buquet answered and glared at her son who grinned sheepishly, "And I have to object against you forcing my son to work on Sundays!"

"Mother, I asked him!" Maurice retorted, "Stop embarrassing me in front of my master!"

Erik stared at the boy. "Maurice... please. Listen to your mother," he said gently, "She just wants what is best for you."

"I decide myself!" Maurice snapped.

"Of course. But tomorrow all of us will have a long and hard day, so I think we should eat something and go to bed, don't you agree?" Erik interfered, not allowing the boy to have a quarrel with his mother. Maurice nodded and left the workshop.

"How did you...?" Madame Buquet asked astonished. If she asked her son to come home he would refuse and accuse her of treating him like a baby when he was the head of the family now.

"I'm not his mother," Erik answered with a smile. He couldn't help being fond of the boy.

* * *

Early the next Sunday - it was a sunny day but rather cold - Erik decided to bring Signore Piangi his special pocket watch. He did not go alone, he took his three friends with him. Why not using this opportunity for a nice walk? He wondered how long the sunny weather would hold and when autumn and winter would become cold, rainy and snowy.

"Why are they staring?" Dede asked, as they passed a group of people who stared at Erik and his friends.

"Because we don't look like them," Erik answered frustrated.

"O look! They don't look like us!" Rene exclaimed rather loud and stared at them, "They have beards!"

"And glasses!" Jules added happily.

Erik couldn't help smiling, but he felt obliged to rebuke them. "It is not polite to stare or point with your fingers." Unfortunately his tone made perfectly clear that he liked the way they just started to stare back and point out differences so the rebuke wouldn't be remembered for long and they continued to stare back whenever people started to stare at them. Erik was rather uncomfortable for this could be mistaken for aggression. He had learned the hard way not to stare back and usually avoided eye-contact. "Don't point with naked fingers at properly dressed people," Erik tried another approach. Now they pulled their sleeves over their hands and pointed with "dressed fingers". Erik couldn't help laughing.

* * *

Signore Piangi's manservant wasn't happy to find the strange group at the door.

"I have Signore Piangi's delivery," Erik said.

"Give it to me, I'll hand it over."

"No, Signore Piangi required that I deliver this personally!" Erik insisted and pushed the servant aside. He had decided that if he would listen to servants he would never get anything done.

Piangi was surprised to see Erik.

"I just want to deliver your order," Erik said and put the silver pocket watch on the table. The tenor took it, opened it and set the hands of the watch so he would hear the melody. It was the tune he had ordered, only the first few notes, but of course more was not possible in a pocket watch. He set the watch right and turned to Erik.

"Thank you, Monsieur Morriere. This is exactly what I wanted. But... weren't you worried Carlotta might be here?"

"No," Erik chuckled, "She had a soiree yesterday and I'm sure she's asleep and won't visit you today. Signore, if you allow me - I have a suggestion that might help your breathing problem."

Piangi noticed that Erik was very careful not to mention his weight now. "Yes, I am interested."

"Let's go for a walk," Erik suggested.

Piangi grabbed his hat and cloak and asked the servant to fetch a cab.

"Cab? We are going for a walk," Erik objected, "We walk to the Bois and go for a walk there, then back. No cabs needed."

* * *

Piangi was out of breath when they reached the Bois. Dede, Rene and Jules started whining if they could buy some sweets.

"No. Signore Piangi here is not allowed to eat sweats and we don't want to make it harder on him, do we?" Erik refused.

"'course not!" Dede answered with a pitiful glance at the singer. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to live without sweets.

Piangi stared at Erik. He had never considered this man to be friendly and helpful. Erik turned to Piangi, trying to look as friendly as he could. "Now we go for a walk. Slowly, I plan to enjoy the park. We could do this every Sunday morning."

"I don't know..." Piangi certainly had no wish to spend much time with the masked man and his three odd friends.

"Please," Erik replied, "The more you go for a walk, the better your breathing will become. I'm not sure if you lose weight, but this does not matter. Your breathing will become much better."

"I'm afraid to catch a cold," Piangi was everything but convinced.

"I'm sure you can afford a warm cloak and scarf to keep warm," Erik replied a bit teasingly, "Signore, I would love to help you, if you do not want to accept my help, just tell me and you'll never see me again. But if you agree, I'm sure your breathing problems will be solved in one year at the latest."

"But if anyone sees us together?" Piangi asked, afraid of the rumors that might come up if someone recognized him. Meeting the masked man once was nothing he couldn't explain, but being together with him regularly wouldn't do any good to his reputation. He hadn't thought he would see such pain in the other man's face.

"I understand," Erik answered sadly, "But you want to breath correctly, don't you? So we just try today and then you decide if you rather want to do it alone. But please keep in mind that it is very hard at the beginning. It would be easier to have someone at your side to support you."

They walked in the park - in rather unpopular areas to avoid being seen by too many people - and Erik kept advising Piangi how to breathe correctly while walking. Despite the rather slow pace Piangi needed a cab to return home that day, but he had to admit that the walk had made him feel good. Maybe he would give it a try next Sunday. Alone.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik has a talent for teaching others. Unfortunately he could not use it before but now he can - and finds out that he likes it._


	58. Making Peace

**Education of the Heart**

 **Making Peace**

Dr. Benevole was pleased to see Erik's progress. Not only had he found a way to earn his livelihood with honest work, he still supported the Buquet family and even had taken over teaching Maurice. Dr. Benevole met the boy once and was impressed to find the young man serious and astonishingly mature for his age. Erik treated his apprentice with great respect and encouraged him to ask questions - Erik was even able to admit if he could not do something or had made a mistake to the boy.

They had an odd working routine: Erik and Maurice would mark the small boards and Dede, Rene and Jules would cut them out and paint them. Erik made the difficult mechanics and left the easy ones to Maurice. They got along so well that Dr. Benevole asked Maurice if he had really forgiven Erik. It seemed to be unbelievable that such a young man could be so forgiving. The boy's answer was even more reason to like him: "If I do not forgive him, it would change nothing, only I would never find out how to make these things. I have nothing to lose and much to gain so I would be stupid if I would not forgive him."

The doctor was even more surprised that Erik got along with at least some of his neighbors. The female doctor loved to invite him to play the piano with her, she loved music and gladly offered that Erik might use her salon if he ever wanted to give music lessons. Erik didn't answer that. He was done giving music lessons, he had decided he would never do so again. It would only remind him of what he had lost.

Unfortunately Erik was still the prime target for mockery and pranks for bored adolescents. He couldn't do much for he didn't even know who they were who left dead rats on the doorstep or threw eggs against the wall in the night. Being an outcast made him the perfect target for them and he hated to know that he could do nothing. He couldn't stay up all night trying to catch them. And if he caught one or two of them by chance - what good would that do? If they stopped mocking him, another one would start. He knew he would never really fit in.

So he was not surprised when one morning Madame Buquets scream woke him. He got dressed in a hurry, checked if his mask and wig were in place, before he rushed to the shop. Dede, Rene and Jules followed in their nightshirts and socks.

A dead rat hang from the doorframe and the window had been smashed. Madame Buquet stood there shivering.

"It is just a dead rat," Erik said, opened the door and cut the rat down before throwing it into the trash. Madame Buquet sat down. Her face was nearly yellow and she was trembling in shock. "Madame? Are you okay? It is just a rat and I already disposed of it. I'll take care of the window and we will put up a tight-knit net of wire before the windows so they can't be smashed that easily." She was still trembling.

"Madame?" Erik asked cautiously. She still did not react. Erik went to his knees before her and took her arms. "Look at me! Madame, look at me! Now breathe. Slowly. Very good. Very good. Everything will be fine." Whom was he fooling? Nothing would be fine but he would have to accept that some things would never change in his life - and her's that is. At least as long as she needed him to raise her children. His voice seemed to calm her - an odd effect, considering their past.

"Did he... did he look like this?" Madame Buquet asked, shuddering.

"Who?" Erik asked but he feared he already knew the answer.

"My dear husband - did you hang him like this rat only to dispose of him like trash?"

He did not know how to reply to that. He let go of her and sat back on his heels. What could he say now? He was the wrong person to offer comfort now. He got up and went to the workshop, sat down at his small upright piano and started playing.

When he had calmed himself enough to be able to face the widow Buquet again, he looked up and saw her sitting at a chair, crying. Dede was standing next to her, gently stroking her hair as Rene and Jules sat on their beds and stared at Erik. Suddenly uncomfortable Erik said: "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause further pain. If I play this I find comfort in my grieving, so..." He trailed off, fully aware how weird the situation was. He, the murderer, trying to comfort the widow of his victim.

"No, its..." she sniffed, "I like to hear you play and... I don't..." She got up and left.

Erik shook his head and turned to his friends. "Get dressed properly or you won't get breakfast!" he ordered sternly.

* * *

A few days later Erik went overheard a discussion between Madame Buquet and her oldest daughter. Madame Buquet had found a workplace for the girl, she could work as a maid in a noble household. Now that she was attending to a normal school and living in rather acceptable quarters it had been possible to find that job. But the girl refused. She did not want to become a maid and spend the rest of her life cleaning a nobleman's house. She strongly disliked that kind of work.

"Listen, Marie, you are old enough to earn your livelihood. You are twelve, I have been only seven when I started working as a cleaner in a factory. It is a noble household and a well paid job, there are so many maids, you would live in the dormitories there, they would give you clothing and better food than I could ever provide. Marie, it would be the best for you!"

"No! I want to be a dressmaker or at least a seamstress making beautiful dresses for rich women. I don't want to spend my life scrubbing floors and polishing silver!"

Erik sighed and Maurice blushed. He was ashamed of his family. Erik decided to go to the store and tell them to stop shouting. He had no intention risking another problem in the neighborhood.

"Madame, Mademoiselle, please," he started, careful not to sound angry, "I'm sure you don't want everyone in this block of flats to hear you."

"This is none of your business!" Madame Buquet snapped, but kept her voice down.

"Maybe it is, Madame," Erik replied, "You mustn't forget that it is my concern if I have to pay the school fees for three or for two girls. Please tell me, what this job is about?"

Madame Buquet glared at her daughter: "A duke needs a new maid. A very respectable household, the work would be easy and he provides generous payment for such a young girl."

"Am I right that the duke has a son about her age?" Erik asked.

"How do you know?" Madame Buquet was surprised. She hadn't even told him the name of the duke.

Erik opened the secret door in the counter and went to the area for the customers to take a seat. "Because I have seen that before. Aristocrats want their sons so be introduced..." he blushed at the thought and searched of the right words - how could he tell that to two females, one of them minor? - "in the secrets of marriage by lowly girls. They often hire a maid for that job, but when she's pregnant she will be accused of prostitution and cast out in the streets. The noble young man of course will marry a virgin of his social class. Didn't you know this? Are you dreaming of some fairy tale like ' _La Cenerentola_ '? Wake up, these things do not happen. The prince abuses the lowly girl and then throws her to the gutter and marries a princess."

"Surely a duke would never..."

"All aristocrats or nothing but..." Erik stopped himself. He would not use the words he was thinking about in the presence of ladies. And he had to admit secretly that he was being prejudiced. Not every aristocrat was like that. But since he knew the Vicomte de Chagny pursued Christine he hated all aristocrats and wished the French Revolution had succeeded in killing all aristocrats. He sighed, crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. "I cannot allow this!" he stated.

"You have no saying in this!" Madame Buquet yelled at him.

"Can I become a seamstress?" Marie asked eagerly.

"I'll try to find a way," Erik promised, "But for now you continue going to school."

"You have no right to interfere!" Madame Buquet exclaimed furiously, "And you go back to our flat and do your homework!" The girl stormed out and slammed the door behind her.

"You are absolute right, Madame, I have absolutely no right. Technically you are my superior here and could tell me to do some stupid, disgusting or even degrading work now just to punish me. You can complain to Gontier for me being insubordinate, to Clemeceau and Benevole for me behaving absolutely shockingly. But you cannot change my decision." He added much softer: "She shall have the chance I never had."

Madame Buquet gave in. "I just want what is best for my daughter. I can't afford to pay for her education, if you find a way **without stealing money** from the cash desk **again** , I agree."

Erik grunted. He hated to be reminded that he wasn't as trustworthy as he liked to think of himself. Then he noticed that he had - again - made a promise without knowing how to keep it. He laughed at himself as he noticed. "O my, I am such a fool," he chuckled, "I promised her and have no idea if I will ever be able to keep that promise. I wonder if I will ever learn to keep my mouth shut."

Madame Buquet couldn't help feeling amused. She didn't like to, but the man before her was no monster, he was just a man, a twisted man, but a man nevertheless.

* * *

A few weeks later the weather changed and it began to snow. The snow was falling in thick snowflakes and Erik asked his three friends to keep the sidewalk free of snow for they wouldn't want a customer to slip when coming to the shop.

Shortly before noon, Erik was rather tired because he had many customers who wanted to buy "something for Christmas" and demanded to see him personally and specify something - he suspected they just wanted to see him like staring at an animal in the zoo so they could boast they had shaken hands with the notorious masked criminal. He had to grin and bear it. What else could he do? Hide in the workshop and send them all away? He needed to work, he wanted to prove himself, especially after Gontier had made some hints he would consider to give him back the position as the business manager of the shop if he proved himself - and their secret little agreement was still standing, they shared the profit as if they were partners. Of course officially there wasn't much profit and Erik earned only a very low salary, just enough no one wondered why he hadn't starved yet. Erik wondered if the tax adviser would end up in prison if he worked like that with every customer.

He looked out the window to check if his friends were cleaning the sidewalk instead of engaging in a snowball fight with some children who happened to be there by chance. He saw Madame Buquet chatting with the female doctor and went to the window. A little eavesdropping wouldn't harm anyone, would it? He opened the window a little bit noiselessly.

"Thank you for the chocolate," Madame Buquet said, obviously the old lady had given her sweets for her children. Erik rolled his eyes. This seemed to be a hobby of this old lady - stuff everyone with sweets.

"O they deserve it! They were so very helpful and carried my bags when I was busy buying Christmas presents for my family," the doctor answered. Ah yes, she and her presents. Erik wondered if there was one person in Paris who would not get a Christmas present from the doctor - himself excluded. He never got any presents, he thought bitterly. But maybe he would buy something for Rene, Dede and Jules and try to celebrate with them. He had never had a Christmas celebration before.

"Yes, they are good children," Madame Buquet said proudly, "Especially Maurice. He's such a forgiving, gentle boy, so much like his father." She sighed. "He even forgave Monsieur Morriere. It is difficult, you see, I feel like I would... not honor my late husband's memory appropriately if I do not hate his murderer. But... he makes it difficult to hate him sometimes. I do not know why but he seems to genuinely care for my children and for his three friends. Sometimes it is really hard to hate him."

Erik swallowed hard. It was not easy to learn about that, but he was too curious to learn more to just close the window and go back to work.

"You should forgive him," the doctor said, "for your own sake. As your son said - it changes nothing. He's not going to get punished by human justice. Fair or not - I don't know. But you only cause more harm to yourself if you do not allow him to make peace. I watched you, I listened to your children - try to make peace. You don't need to like him, but make peace. It would be better for all of you."

Madame Buquet sighed. "My husband was a very forgiving man. He was never one to ask for revenge. I can't promise, but... after so many years I am just worn out. I certainly do want to make peace."

Erik turned away and went back to the workshop. He didn't even want to hear more. He felt as if a far too tight corset that had suffocated him had just been opened and he could breathe freely again.


	59. Christmas Presents

**Education of the Heart**

 **Christmas Presents**

Erik had not counted on how many people would buy watches or music boxes or clocks as Christmas presents for their family. Especially a new idea for a clock was something they liked - a clock build in a painting or, even better, a mechanism that looked like a tiny stage and had the figures moving around on the stage every hour. His customers loved these mixture of clocks and toys, some even with music, and he was very busy trying to finish them in time. Even when he reluctantly agreed that Maurice could put together the clocks alone and left the easy menial tasks to Dede, Rene and Jules, he could not finish all orders in time and finally had to turn down customers, telling them they could either buy something that was ready for sale in the shop or wait until end of January for he would never finish the new order before Christmas.

It was only begin of December and Erik felt like he was about to break down under the pressure. He disliked turning customers down, it felt like admitting weakness. But he could only do so much - even if he was capable of doing much work, eventually he needed rest. Unfortunately the constant feeling of being overworked and being incapable to live up to the expectations made him first grumpy, then aggressive.

A cold evening, like many others, Erik was on his way back from fetching supplies from one of the suppliers for clockmakers. He went home together with his three friends who helped him carrying the bags. Suddenly Jules exclaimed excitedly: "Girl dancer!" and sprinted to cross the street. Erik reacted without thinking, he grabbed Jules from behind, somehow got hold of the bag the mongoloid man was carrying on his back and pulled him back just in time so he was not run over by a fast driving carriage.

"Jules!" Erik yelled, his voice unusually high-pitched in his shock, "Never do this again! Never!" He backhanded Jules, then took him in his arms and pressed him to his breast. "You could have died, Jules, never step on the street without looking if it is save!" Erik shook Jules, who was crying now, and forced him to look him in the eyes. "Jules, never do this again! Don't die on me, Jules, promise me you won't die on me!"

Jules sniffed and nodded.

Erik and his friends were still trembling when Meg Giry and her mother crossed the street to see if they were hurt. They had seen everything and despite the noise of the carriages in the street heard Erik yell at Jules.

"Are you hurt?" Madame Giry asked worriedly.

"He's okay," Erik answered, sensing Jules could not speak now, "Just a bit shaken." Meg bit her tongue to prevent herself from pointing out that the only one who looked like he might faint any moment now was Erik.

"You shouldn't have slapped him," Madame Giry scolded Erik as she saw Jules reddened cheek.

Erik shuddered, but said nothing. He had acted purely on instinct, without any thinking in his shock and knew that it was not really mature behavior, but right now he didn't care. He was too shaken by the sudden realization that he could have lost his friend then and there. It had been far too close.

"Hot Chocolate?" Jules asked and turned to Meg Giry with a hopeful smile.

"He can't be hurt if all he thinks of is chocolate," Meg laughed, "Two blocks this way is a nice cafe - I'll buy you some hot chocolate."

"Meg Giry! After your really shameful performance yesterday you should better go home and practice and not stuff yourself with sweets!" her mother scolded. Meg ignored her. Erik raised his eyebrow as he thought about this. Since when did Meg dare to ignore her mother's commands? This was something entirely new.

"It is my turn to invite you," Erik replied with a smile, "Madame, Mademoiselle?"

Madame Giry gave in with a sigh. "Today's youth!" she complained, "Thinking they know everything better and not listening to their parents. If she would at least obey me as her ballet mistress, but no, she thinks because she's my daughter she can neglect her training!" She took Erik's arm he offered gentlemanly and Dede just grabbed her other arm. Jules and Rene took Meg's arms to take her to the cafe.

The waiter was not amused to find the strange group entering his cafe. He was afraid the masked man and the three idiots would frighten away his other guests. "I'm sorry, I have no table for you," he said.

Erik glared at the waiter. "No free table? Not even half of your tables are occupied," he protested, not willing to give in. His male pride didn't allow him to give in in front of two ladies. It was almost funny when he thought about this, but in some ways he was just another man. The waiter tried to protest further, but Erik ignored him and took his seat, his friends following his example and finally even the two women did, rather embarrassed by what had just happened. "Ignore him," Erik told them, "This happens to me all the time. If I would allow myself to be turned down every time I would never get anything done. Now he has no choice but to serve us if he wants to get rid of us."

He was right, the waiter had no choice but to give them what they wanted - hot chocolate for Rene, Dede and Jules and tea for Erik and the Girys. Erik decided to use the opportunity to ask another favor of Madame Giry: "Madame, what do you think about the costume department in the opera house? Don't you think some of the seamstresses are growing old and might need some help?"

"What do you want?" Madame Giry asked suspiciously. She had been tangled in Erik's web of lies and crimes far too long not to suspect yet another crime.

"Do you know Marie Buquet?" Erik asked.

Madame Giry felt like she had been punched in the stomach and Meg paled. They remembered the corpse dangling from the flies in the middle of the ballet all too well. "No," Madame Buquet answered, her voice raspy and cold.

"She wants to become a seamstress," Erik explained calmly, "And maybe next summer she could start with her education at the costume stock of the opera."

"And how can I help her with that?" Madame Giry asked.

"You could ask for a favor from the right people. Come on, Madame Giry, you know how to get someone hired in the opera! Don't be so petulant!" Erik had no nerves to soothe her and gently persuade her to do this for him. He was already thinking of the three clock-music boxes in form of a stage with dancers he should have finished by now. He would have to work all night to finish them before the next day.

"Erik Morriere! Your impertinence has just reached a new level!" Madame Giry scolded him and Meg giggled. Hearing her mother talking like that to the dreaded Phantom was just too funny. "Meg Giry! If you want to be treated like a lady, kindly behave like one!" Madame Giry rebuked.

Erik tried to control himself. He would not yell at her, he would not threaten her and he would surely not use his physical strength to beat her into submission. It was degrading, but all he could do now was being servile and beg. He would love to show that arrogant old crone her place, but this was no option now. "She's a good girl and loves tailoring," he reasoned, "All I ask of you is to get the right men to give her a chance. Please, Madame Giry, you know how hard it is for a girl from the lower working classes to survive. Being a seamstress is a very reasonable dream, isn't it?"

"Are you appealing to my better nature?" Madame Giry asked still suspiciously.

"What else can I do now?" Erik asked, this time not able to hold back his frustration, "I'm reduced to crawling and begging. What do you want? Do you want to see me on my knees? Just say so, if I have to kiss your feet I'll do even that." Meg was about to say that she'd love to see this but her mother kicked her shin under the table just in time to prevent her from speaking.

"I can't promise anything, but I will ask the chief costume designer and the managers," Madame Giry promised.

Erik let out a sigh of relief. One thing less to worry about. He didn't dare count the rest.

* * *

One week before Christmas Gontier showed up in the shop. It was late evening, Erik had send Maurice to go to bed and his friends too, only Erik himself was sitting at his desk, working at one of the clock-music-box-stages. He did not even notice the man who came to his workshop, despite the knock.

"Erik?" Gontier asked and Erik jumped to his feet. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Erik sank down on his chair and ran a hand over his face. He did not wear mask or wig right now and didn't even notice. Gontier studied the deformed features he could see clearly now in the gaslight and the additional light from the oil lamps on the desk. Gontier was not frightened by the sight and he did not stare. He had known Erik's deformity before, had seen it when Erik had been forced to wash himself at the only water faucet the garbage collecting enterprise had in the backyard. Erik looked like a wax sculpture that had been too close to fire with the right half of his face.

"How long do you plan to work today?" Gontier asked.

"Until I finish this and the pocket watch," Erik answered, "If this terrible headache doesn't kill me first."

"How many hours a day do you work?" Gontier asked.

Erik shrugged. "Not enough." The room was dusty and unwashed clothing as well as used dishes were lying around in the living space of the large room. It was obvious that Erik hadn't found the time to care for himself and his friends properly.

"Go to bed," Gontier said.

"I have to finish this."

"Go to bed, this is an order!" Gontier replied, "Erik, you can barely keep your eyes open. Do you know that you are not wearing your mask?"

Erik flung up his hand to cover his face, shocked to find it naked. He couldn't remember taking off his mask.

"Go to bed," Gontier ordered again, "And tomorrow I ask Madame Buquet and her daughters to make sure you get enough food and that they do the laundry for you. I can't have my cash cow working himself to death." Erik looked at Gontier and tried to figure out if the man was making fun or was serious. Either Gontier was just worried about his best workman falling ill or he genuinely cared for him. Erik was too tired to think about that - the fact that he hadn't heard the man enter and had completely forgotten about his mask was a serious warning that he should better go to bed or he would - not the first time - sleep in his chair at the desk and wake with terrible pain in his back and neck.

* * *

Even if he had not believed he could do it, Erik managed to finish all orders from customers - some at the 24th of December late at night. But they all could be delivered before 25th at six a.m.

Gontier came to fetch his nephew and his two friends for the family Christmas celebration. "My sister is his mother, she can see him at least once a year," he stated. Dede was not happy. His mother had never cared for him, she was a stranger, but he loved his uncle and the celebration with lots of sweets.

Before Gontier left with the three mongoloid men he turned towards Erik who was sitting at his desk, hunched over, his head in his hands. "Erik? Do you want to join us?"

Erik looked up in surprise. Was this an invitation to a Christmas celebration? It was the first time he was invited as a guest to any celebration at all and he was suddenly afraid. There would be many people he didn't know and they would stare and point at him and gossip - he found he couldn't accept it. "Thank you, but no. I just need some sleep," he replied, "Bring them back at 28th, I need them to help me to clean up this mess here."

Gontier went to Erik and placed a small bottle of fine Cognac on the desk before him. "Merry Christmas," he said and left, leaving a totally confused Erik. He had just received a Christmas present and didn't know what to do. He could only stare at the bottle.

Erik decided it would be better to go to bed now and sleep for the next two days.

* * *

When Erik woke at the 25th late at night he build a fire in the stove to warm the room. He could hear the Buquet family sing - terribly wrong - some Christmas carols. Donkeys and goats could sing better. The doctor's family was making music too, but they played in tune. Erik decided he should go to the shop to count the money and prepare the papers he would have to give the tax adviser at the end of the months. Or he could start going to the elegant quarters and look for some thrown away gifts he could use as gifts to the Buquet family. Madame Buquet was a widow, but she had no black dress. Maybe he would find one for her, or at least black fabric so she could sew it for herself.

To his great surprise he found a parcel on the counter with his name on it in the female doctor's nice handwriting. It was just a box of chocolates, but to him it was much more. There was a nice old lady who had bought a gift for him. Two gifts in only one day, this surely had to be counted as miracle in Erik's eyes.

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 _Thank you for reading and please leave a little review. :-)_


	60. a New Attempt

**Education of the Heart**

 **a New Attempt**

Erik did not get anything done over Christmas. He could barely bring himself to get up and eat something, he spend almost twenty hours a day in bed, not really sleeping, but too tired to get up. He enjoyed the quietness and peace he suddenly felt. No one to disturb him, no one to bother him, he could just rest to regain his strength.

He only got up shortly before Gontier came to bring back Dede, Rene and Jules. The three men were grinning happily, carrying a parcel. "Got present for you!" Dede exclaimed, not able to hold back his excitement.

Erik took the parcel.

"Open! Open! Open!" Rene urged him.

Erik opened the parcel. Before he had any chance to have a closer look Rene urged him: "Try! Try! Try!"

Erik laughed: "Can I please have a look at it? Patience, my friends, patience!" In the box he found an elegant black hat, clearly second-hand, but elegant nevertheless, black leather gloves and a necktie. Erik smiled as he saw the necktie - it was not one he would ever have chosen for himself. It had an odd color of green that did not match any of his clothing. He put on the hat and the gloves and held to necktie to his collar to let them see how he would look like.

"I love it," he said, smiling, "Thank you very much." He didn't have the heart to tell them that he would have a rather hard time to find any suit he could wear with this kind of green necktie.

"They wanted to give you a gift," Gontier explained smiling, "They spend two days going through the valuable rubbish to find something for you. They really invested much time and work."

"And I have nothing for you..." Erik answered ashamed. He had been too tired to go and find some present.

"Gift is gift, not trade," Dede said seriously and looked to Gontier who had obviously taught him this sentence.

Erik gently embraced his friends like a father would his sons, deeply moved by their wish to give him a Christmas present. He would have to find something for them too.

* * *

Erik used the last days of the year to find late Christmas presents for people he considered his friends now. Of course Christine was still on top of his list, even if he had not been able to see her for far too long, it would have been too painful. But he wanted her to know that he still loved her, even if he had given up all hopes of ever winning her love.

Christine was surprised when her maid announced on the morning of the last day of the year that a masked man wanted to talk to her. She didn't know what she felt at this - she was happy to see him again, but at the same time scared what he might want or do now. It had been such a long time since their last conversation and it had not been pleasant.

Erik came in, wearing a brown suit and a beige leather mask with a green necktie that surely did not fit. He politely took off his hat and gave a stiff bow. "Mademoiselle Daae," he greeted as if they were strangers.

She held her breath, not knowing how to react. "Erik," she finally forced herself to answer, "How do you do?"

"I'm not sure you actually want an answer to that," he said and held out the bag he had carried to her.

"Thank you," she answered and gestured to the couch: "Please have a seat. Do you like some tea? Or coffee?"

"No, my friends are waiting for me outside. I better go."

"I'd offer tea to them too," Christine answered and went to open the door. Dede, who had been pressing his ear against the door, stumbled and fell into her arms. Christine couldn't help laughing. "Come in, please," she said and turned to Erik: "Meg told me that you have the three shadowing you. She rather likes them."

"Girl dancer likes me?" Jules asked excited.

"Of course," Christine answered, "She told me she'd like to see you more often."

Erik groaned. "Why do you have to tell them? Now they will be bugging me for weeks!"

Christine sat down and watched as the three mongoloid men took off their hats and gloves and sat down like gentlemen. Erik's teaching showed. Christine told her maid to bring them some tea.

"No hot chocolate?" Rene asked, a bit disappointed.

"Not every girl always has hot chocolate for you!" Erik snapped, "What did I tell you about being polite? Never demand anything from a lady!"

"We made gift for you!" Dede exclaimed excitedly, then turned to Erik: "Give her, give her, give her!"

"Shut up!" Erik snapped and Christine giggled. This was a completely new side of Erik, one she had only heard about from the Girys but not seen herself. He had assumed the role of a surrogate father to his friends and it was fun to watch him. "I'm sorry," Erik turned to her with a sigh, "They so much love to give anyone presents." He handed over the small parcel.

"Open it!" Rene demanded and clapped his hands, Erik grabbed his wrist to stop him.

Christine opened the ribbon and the paper and found a music box with a clock. The music box looked like a stage and next to it were several small figures and different metal walzes for the music. "If you open it at the back you can easily change the walzes so it plays a different tune. I included six different melodies but can always make more, if you like," Erik explained, "And for every music you can put other figures on stage to match the music. The figures have a magnet in their feet, the mechanism moves them around with the magnets. You can create different stagings for every music... as you like."

"Thank you, this is a really great gift," Christine said, admiring the music box with the clock in it.

"It is an alarm clock," Erik pointed out, "It plays only at the set time."

"I cut the wood," Dede couldn't hold back his excitement now.

"I colored," now Rene could not keep silent.

"I cleaned up," Jules added. He had not been actually involved in producing this special music box with a clock but had been the one to sweep up that day - surely this counted as doing his part in producing this present.

"Thank you," Christine said again, not entirely sure how to react now. She felt as if she was pushed on stage and found herself in an opera she had never seen before and had no idea what to do next. There was Erik, whom she knew as bossing everyone around and not caring at all about another one's wishes. He could be really terrifying. But that was just one side. She had seen that other side and it had moved her deeply, there was his need to protect, to care, to encourage. She still wondered what had driven him to become her teacher, why he had fallen in love with her.

Erik now looked away, his fingers moving nervously, his visible cheek reddened in a blush.

"Tell her," Dede said and nudged Erik, "Tell her!"

"Stop pushing me!" Erik snapped and pushed Dede's arm away, "And now you shut up and let me do this!"

"I've read some critics," Erik began, then cleared his throat, loosened his collar as if he needed to ease his breathing, "The opera is... not what it was before."

Christine inhaled sharply. This was a sensitive topic. "Well... it is different," she admitted.

"You are still not given the roles you deserve," Erik replied as a matter of fact.

The young singer shrugged. "I get solo parts and even some leading roles, I'm considered to be the second or third best soprano in Paris - which is good, isn't it?"

" **No**!" Erik roared and hit the table with his fist in a loud bang, "It is **not** good! Have you forgotten everything I taught you? You are better than any other singer, you are the best and you should actively work on your career and not just sit back and wait until someone else makes the decisions for you."

"Erik, I am not up to the larger roles!" Christine replied, a bit angry, "I know that I am inadequate."

"No!" this time he was much calmer, softer, in his reply, "You are much better than Carlotta. She has had her time - now it is time for her to step down. You... just need to believe in yourself. You have the voice, the strength and the technique. All you need is self-confidence. Tell me, are you again singing like a carriage driver driving with the brakes applied? Holding back what would make you great? Are you afraid? How can the poor horse gallop at full speed when the driver always pulls the break? Let go of the breaks and allow yourself to run freely. Don't be afraid of the momentum you might gather, for it can only help you, let yourself be carried away, don't you try to control it!"

Christine was close to tears. It was exactly what she had been doing without him. "I can't, Erik!" she whispered, "I have to stay in control or I might not hit a note."

"Then you miss one note and claim it was necessary for acting the part properly," Erik answered, "You need to allow yourself to be carried away with the music. Don't be afraid of what might happen - stop thinking of if or when, stop thinking about rules and boundaries, just do what you are born to do. Fly into the sky like an eagle, leave the cage - let me push the door open for you and set you free."

"I do not understand..." Christine mumbled, afraid he would be angry with her now.

Erik sighed. "You know that your insufferable Raoul is worried about you?" he asked.

Christine nodded. "He told me he was so worried he even asked you to teach me again. But, Erik, I... am afraid."

"Me too," Erik answered, "That's why my friends are here. As chaperon."

"What is chaperon?" Dede asked, before Christine could answer.

"That is... someone who watches that another one does not do something improper," Erik explained.

"So we watch girl-singer?" Rene asked, obviously the idea that Erik could be the one doing something improper didn't occur to him. Erik and Christine laughed at the mere thought that Erik would need protection against her.

"No," Erik chuckled, "She's a lady. It is always the lady that needs to be protected from the man."

"Why?" Dede asked, his eyes wide.

"Because..." Erik blushed and tried to find some believable explanation, "I have a bad temper, you know." They nodded. This was something they did understand. Erik turned back to Christine: "I know I made many mistakes, the biggest one was to frighten you, to push you too hard. Please, I do not demand anything in return, I just want to help you to take your rightful place as primadonna assoluta."

"Erik... if this is another attempt to make me change my mind about my engagement to the Vicomte de Chagny..." Christine began, but fell silent as Erik held up his hand.

"No, it is not," he snapped frustrated, "I still love you. But if he loves you so much, he even offered to pay me for teaching you just to make you happy, my pride does not allow me to be less honorable. I know this sounds very selfish, but... I still think he..." Erik stopped himself. No, he would not tell her why she was making a mistake. It was her mistake, let her make it, and when she would finally accept it was a mistake she would simply return to him. "I just want you to sing, you are music," Erik cut himself short, glad he had not come here alone or he would again say something stupid. The mere presence of his friends was enough to force him to stay in control of himself.

"Erik, you know that I am going to marry Raoul and finally agreed on a wedding date?" Christine replied, her voice shaking.

"I do read newspapers," Erik answered, "I don't expect an invitation. I do not expect you to continue as singer after your marriage, but... I do expect you to leave the opera as the primadonna at the height of your career and not as just some understudy who gets only minor roles." He went to stand before Christine, reaching out as if to touch her but never actually touching her. "You are like an eagle with fear of heights, Christine. I can teach you to fly and then I will open the door of your cage and set you free to decide yourself if you want to come back or not. I just want you to know that I'll always be there for you, always."

Erik had not come to her with the intention of offering to teach her again. He had just wanted to give her a farewell gift and tell her good-by, but when he had seen her, he had not been able to do it. He wanted to kick himself for his utter foolishness but he could not control his heart. Just when he had thought he was able to give her what she needed and could become everything she wanted him to be for her - and now he was back to step one.

On their way home Dede asked: "Why sad?"

"It is difficult, Dede. You know I love her. But she loves another man more so she is going to marry him," Erik sighed, "And there is nothing I can do except sitting back and waiting."

"Let go," Rene answered, echoing something Erik had taught them: If you can't hold the horse, let it go before it hurts you. Erik swallowed hard and tried to think of something else to distract himself from his dark thoughts.

"Do you want present some more people with gifts?" he asked, trying to sound cheerful.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_


	61. Gifts

**Education of the Heart**

 **Gifts**

Dede, Rene and Jules were so happy giving various people gifts Erik had to stop them and forbid giving away too many things. They did only give away what they had, they never even considered theft, but they would give away even their clothing just for the new found joy of giving presents. Hopefully they would tire of this new game soon.

But at first Erik decided to participate in their game for he himself thought he might find some gifts for some people. So they used the first days in January to go through the garbage to sort out things they might clean and use. Erik had given detailed orders what they were looking for.

* * *

Madame Buquet was more than surprised to find a black woolen dress on the counter with a note on it, which showed just her name in Erik's handwriting. The dress was clearly not made for her, it must have been made for a shorter and much heavier woman. She and her daughters could always change it, making a dress smaller was not a problem. She liked the fine woolen clothing, the simple elegance of it.

"Like it?" Dede asked anxiously. She looked up to see the three men standing in the narrow passageway, waiting if she liked her new dress or not.

She nodded. "I like this dress, but please do tell Monsieur Morriere that he should not start bringing unwanted gifts to soothe his conscience."

"But it is from all of us," Rene protested, "We found it for you, he cleaned it."

Madame Buquet smiled. The three men were so naive and innocent like small children. "Then I thank you for it. A little late for Christmas, but I know how difficult the work was - so many orders!"

"Yes, difficult," Dede replied, "Maurice helped."

"Yes, he's a good boy," she answered and waited for the annoyed grunt of her son for she knew he was in the workshop and the door was open, he could hear her.

When she was in the shop dusting off the shelves, she heard the door to the narrow passageway open. It could only be Erik Morriere, no one else moved noiseless as a cat, only the door-mechanism giving him away.

"Please forgive me, Madame, I didn't mean to offend you," Erik said sadly, "My friends have so much fun giving presents..."

"I appreciate your concern for my children, Monsieur, but please understand that I do not want anything more. I do not like you and I want to keep it this way. Stop trying to become my friend, there can never be any friendship between you, the murderer of my husband, and me," she said firmly, "So kindly stop trying!"

Erik nodded, his teeth clenched. "I understand. As I said, I'm sorry. I did not mean to offend you. I just... hoped to bring a little bit of happiness in your life." It was painful, but he did understand her. If someone had murdered his beloved Christine, he would never be able to forgive that person. Right now he wondered why Madame Buquet had never tried to kill him.

"Monsieur... thank you. I like the dress," she replied.

* * *

Madame Giry and her daughter came home after a performance. They were both tired and Meg was - once again - complaining about the pain in her feet. "Why can't the costume designer take care about the feet of the dancers? Only a few millimeters wider in the front and two centimeters lower heels and I wouldn't... hey, did we forget to turn off the gaslight before we left?"

They rushed to their flat, afraid the gaslight might have caused a fire, but when they opened the door they saw three mongoloid men asleep on the carpet before the chimney. Erik was on his feet and blinked at them, obviously he too had been asleep and woke up when he heard the door. "Good evening Madame, Mademoiselle," he said and this woke his friends.

"Girl dancer!" Jules exclaimed happily and rushed to embrace Meg.

"Girl dancer much nicer than girl singer, girl singer no chocolate," Rene told her.

"Stop this!" Erik scolded them, "How many times do I have to tell you that you have to stop this shameless begging!"

Meg laughed. "O my. The way to a man's heart is hot chocolate. Who else wants hot chocolate?"

Dede, Rene and Jules called out: "Me, me, me, me, me!"

"Meg Giry! Do you know how late it is?" Madame Giry scolded her daughter, "We can't have guests that late!"

"Why not?" Dede asked disappointed, then remembered the reason why the had come here in the first place: "Brought gift for you!"

"For me?" Meg asked.

Rene hurried to give her a bag.

"Openitopenitopenit!" Jules whipped on his legs in excitement.

It was a doll. A beautiful doll looking like a ballerina. It could be wound up and would perform a small dance routine then. The doll was about 45 centimeters high. "That is... wow," Meg said, not understanding how this doll could be balanced just on her pointed shoes. It looked like the doll was dancing. "How... how did you do this?"

Erik grinned. He looked as excited as his friends at the astonishment of the two women. "I could tell you - but then I would have to kill you," he said.

"Erik!" Madame Giry exclaimed horrified. She knew Erik well enough to know precisely that he actually had killed to keep his secrets in the past.

"A tasteless joke, Madame, forgive me," Erik answered hastily, noticing his mistake.

"Meg Giry, aren't you a bit old for playing with dolls?" Madame Giry asked, but smiled happily. Her little Meg was still her little Meg, despite all of her protests that she was an adult now.

"Hot chocolate?" Rene reminded her, tugging her sleeve.

Madame Giry gave in with a sigh. "I guess I'm outvoted here," she mused and went to the kitchen.

"Since when do women vote?" Erik asked behind her, making her jump.

"Erik! Stop frightening me!" she breathed.

"How long did you wait to say that?" Erik asked with a smirk.

"Too long!" Madame Giry sternly replied, "Hot chocolate for you too?"

"Madame... what am I to make of this?" he answered and spread his hands with a wide grin.

"Are you... flirting with **me**?"

Erik backed away, this was becoming far too personal for his tastes. He liked Madame Giry, but he had never ever thought of her as a woman - a rather good-looking widow, that is. No. He was done with females, he had to accept that he would remain a bachelor forever. Better forget that something like men and women existed in this world. "It is tasteless-jokes-day, didn't you know this?" he said over his shoulder and left her alone in the kitchen to see what his friends and Meg were up to.

* * *

Dr. Benevole sat in his office, wondering what Erik was doing now. He had to admit that he missed the weekly sessions, he had grown to like his patient, even if he knew it was just a doctor-patient relationship, at least it should be like that.

Erik was late this time. He and his three friends were hiding something from the doctor. "Good evening, doctor," Erik said and his friends mimicked him immediately. Dr. Benevole noticed that Erik wore a green necktie that certainly did not fit his brown suit or the brown cloak and hat. When Erik noticed the doctor staring at his necktie he explained: "My favorite one. A gift from my friends." Dede, Rene and Jules nodded happily.

"Gift for doctor!" Dede couldn't hold back.

"No tell!" Rene scolded him and Dede looked aside blushing.

Erik grabbed a bag they had hidden and handed it over to the doctor. "Now that you already know..." he said, trying to sound annoyed, but the doctor noticed that Erik was enjoying this as much as his friends were.

The bag was full of different things. A knit cap, socks, a teaset put together of various different sets and an alarm clock. "Thank you," the doctor said, he thought he could guess which gift came from which man.

"It is an alarm clock," Erik explained, "Try it."

The doctor took out the alarm clock and set the alarm so it would go off any moment. The alarm went off - a cookie fell out of a tiny trapdoor.

"You have to refill the cookie when you set the alarm," Erik said, "I'm sorry it is not possible to keep them edible for too long inside a clock."

Dr. Benevole had to laugh. "Thank you. To what do I owe this?"

"Gift is gift, not trade," Dede almost scolded him.

"They taught me," Erik explained almost childishly, "I had no idea what it is like to give someone a gift and expect nothing in return."

"Wow, that is... thank you." Dr. Benevole got up and got a large box of chocolates. He was prepared for their sweet tooth. He handed over the box to the three mongoloid men who immediately started to divide the pieces of chocolate among themselves.

"You really made great progress," Dr. Benevole told Erik, "I think you are cured."

"I'm not so sure," Erik replied, "I'm seeing Christine again. Giving her lessons. I'm not sure where this will lead this time, but..."

"O no. No! Just like that: NO!" the doctor exclaimed frustrated, "You are not going to repeat that again!"

"She's going to be married in summer," Erik sighed, "All I want is that her last performance at the opera is to be... magnificent. A leading role. I thought about the Leila in _Les pêcheurs de perles_."

"Isn't Carlotta...?" the doctor asked, then grabbed Erik's sleeve: "O no! Not after all we've been through!"

Erik laughed: "Gotcha! You really fell for it! Haha! No, of course I do not plan to do anything illegal. No, I have a completely different approach. And this time, I ask you before I do anything. Now listen: I'm absolutely sure Christine is much better than Carlotta - much better than any other singer. So I am going to ask Firmin right away if he agrees on a fair competition between all sopranos for the role. There will be a jury of the best musicians in Paris, deciding which one wins the role."

"Why do you think he would agree to that?"

"Because Firmin is absolutely addicted to publicity," Erik grinned, "And the competition can be public - the rest is up to the fantasy of the journalists. Nothing illegal, isn't it? It won't be fair, I know that, but Christine is so much better than the other singers - she can't lose."

"You really think the managers would accept your idea? I think they would reject anything that comes from you," the doctor cautioned him.

Erik thought about this. "Yes... that might be true. I need someone else to present that idea. Someone who has always been my opponent and therefore would never be suspected of being my friend. I'll find a way, don't worry, a legal way."

Dr. Benevole leaned back in his seat, smiling. "I think you can be called cured. You are still somewhat eccentric and I suspect you of tax fraud - but you behave like any other man. The only point that really worries me is that you can't keep away from Christine Daae!"

"With her consent and that of her... future husband. There! I can say it! Are you happy now?"

"Erik... I'm still not convinced this is a good idea," Dr. Benevole said, "Even if you are able to be just a friend and teacher and harm no one else - it will affect you. It will cause you much pain. And what for? She's going to get married in summer and giving up her career. So why do you insist that she takes her leave as prima donna? Why make her prima donna for just one or two months?"

"There is a difference if you leave in triumph or just slink away," Erik answered, "It is about how people will remember her in the future. Are they going to remember the most beautiful woman with the voice of an angel or will they forget the average talented soubrette? And it is about her own self-confidence. I successfully destroyed what I wanted to nurture - I just... I don't want her to think she's not good enough or worthy of anyone's attention. She deserves better than that."


	62. Self Restraint

**Education of the Heart**

 **Self Restraint**

Erik went to the park with his friends on Sunday morning. It was a cold day so there were not many people in the snowy park and he absolutely enjoyed being childish and start a snowball fight with his friends.

Suddenly a dog came running towards them. Jules, who had once been bitten by a dog, screamed and hid behind Erik. Erik was cautious, it was a black Labrador. But when the Labrador came closer Erik noticed that it was a young dog and he just wanted to play. Erik bend down to stroke the dog, took his collar to hold him. "He's just young and playful," Erik told his friends, "Look how his tail is waggling, he likes you."

Dede cautiously crept closer and allowed the dog to sniff him. Rene just started cuddling the dog, which rolled on his back in the snow so they could rub his belly. Jules kept his distance, he mistrusted the black dog.

Erik looked around for the owner of this dog. He saw a familiar and unmistakable figure approaching them. It was the leading tenor of the opera, Ubaldo Piangi, who had trouble running after his dog.

"Good morning," Erik called out, when the tenor was close enough.

"I... hope he... didn't... frighten..." Piangi puffed, struggling to catch his breath.

"Take your time," Erik answered, "What's his name?"

"Hannibal"

Erik laughed. "Nice name for a dog. Since when do you have a dog?"

Piangi had caught his breath enough to reply accusingly: "This is all your fault! You told me to go for a walk would help my breathing. It does - but you bastard were right that it is hard to go for a walk alone in bad weather. So I got myself a dog, Hannibal forces me to go for a walk each morning." He smiled. The masked man had really helped him with his advise to go for a walk. "The only problem is his large brown puppy eyes. Carlotta is so in love with this dog, she can't resist feeding him from the table. Whatever I forbid - he just looks at her and she allows it."

Erik chuckled. So even Carlotta had a weak spot. They watched to where the dog and the three mongoloid men were engaged in some sort of snowball fight.

"Monsieur Piangi, I'm glad you feel better now. Did you... did you lose some weight?"

"Actually yes. Hannibal keeps running for hours," Piangi explained.

"Signor Piangi, may I ask you a favor?" Erik asked suddenly nervous.

"No," the tenor refused outright, "Everyone else yes - you never!"

"It is nothing illegal," Erik replied, hurt that the other man had refused without hearing him out, "And of course I am willing to return the favor - if I can."

"I sing Faust - but I do not make a pact with the devil," Piangi said, "I have not forgotten who you are, Monsieur Phantom, and I won't be your partner in crime."

Erik sighed. He would never be rid of his bad reputation, his past was a burden he would carry with him for the rest of his life, like he had to live with his mask. "No, not any crime. In fact, I think the opera would benefit from my idea, but the managers would never ever listen to me - but they surely will listen to the best tenor in France."

Piangi stared at Erik. Had the notorious Phantom just called him the best tenor in France? Was he trying to coax him? There was something in the masked man's voice that told Piangi that Erik was serious and meant what he said. The tenor couldn't help feeling a certain pride knowing that the Phantom - who was never satisfied with anything and to whom true perfection was barely good enough - seldom praised someone. To be called "best tenor in France" by this man was something to be proud of.

Erik didn't look at Piangi, he stared at the dog and his three friends. Even Jules had lost his fear and was playing with the dog now. "The opera needs a new production, as you might know. I have an idea how to get the necessary means to pay for all the new decoration, props and costumes and even create much publicity. If you present this to Firmin as your own idea, he'll buy it."

They took their time discussing Erik's idea. Piangi thought it was a rather good idea - he just disliked one detail: that Carlotta might lose. "Have you... considered that Christine might **not win**?"

"She can't lose," Erik answered, "Not if at least half of the jury is not bribed."

"But you did not consider what it would do to Carlotta to lose," Piangi reminded him, "Christine is going to be married and give up singing anyways, Carlotta has no such chance."

Erik considered this. Obviously Piangi really loved Carlotta despite all her flaws and cared for her well-being. "She could simply not participate," Erik answered, "If she does not want to lose she can always claim not to be interested in that role."

"And you really think Carlotta could possibly withstand temptation to triumph over her rival? She's Carlotta."

"Then it would be a competition not just between the two best sopranos in Europe but between their mentors too, wouldn't it?" Erik asked and held out his hand: "May the best singer win."

Piangi gave that much thought. He didn't say yes or no, just promised to think about it and if Carlotta really wanted this he would suggest it to the managers, but only with Carlotta's consent.

* * *

Piangi was not one to go behind anyone's back, so he just went straight to Carlotta and asked about her opinion to "his" idea. She was - self-confident as she was - absolutely sure that no singer would ever match her, much less surpass her. To her this would be her ultimate triumph to humble that Skandinavian peasant girl. When Carlotta did not object but was eager to participate, Piangi dared to approach Firmin, who at first thought it a terrible idea, then, as the tenor explained that it was to create a contest between the best sopranos and the best one would win the role of the Leila it would certainly bring in the audience - the patrons would pay much just to watch the contest - agreed.

* * *

Erik had not counted on Christine thinking this whole idea terrible. She did not like contests, especially not when Erik explained to her that it was his idea and why. "Why are you doing this, Erik?" she demanded, "Why do you want me to humble Carlotta? I am giving up my career as a singer anyways, so why do you insist on making me a star?"

"Because it makes a huge difference how people will remember you. They will remember your last magnificent performance - and in the memory of humans you will always be the soprano of the century. Or they would forget you like so many others are completely forgotten. Christine, do this for yourself - or you will always ask yourself if you missed something in your life," he turned away and stared out of the window to the streets, not really seeing anything. "Please do not waste your life like I wasted mine," he whispered.

Christine fell silent and stared at the chimney. "I always wanted to fulfill my father's dream and become a singer. But what if I'm not good enough? What if another soprano wins?"

"No one is better than you, my dear Christine, and no one else has me as her teacher."

* * *

The singing lessons now took place at daytime and not in Christine's flat. Erik had finally accepted the female doctor's offer he could use her salon for the singing lessons and there was a chaperon - the doctor was there and played a certain game of dice with Dede, Rene and Jules, the four of them having much fun with the simple game the doctor had invented.

It was easier for Erik and Christine to keep it "purely business" as they were not alone and Erik did not dare talk about his feelings for her. He tried to block out the upcoming marriage, trying to enjoy her singing as long as he possibly could and not think of the summer that was to come.

Usually Raoul accompanied Christine to her singing lesson and took her home in his carriage. He did not trust Erik, not one inch, but he avoided meeting him. Christine seemed to be happy with the music lessons, she had missed them so much, especially Erik's voice.

Christine did not feel torn between Raoul and Erik, she was sure in her love for Raoul, especially now that Erik seemed to accept that he could never be more than a good friend to her. She liked Erik and admired how much he had been able to change - he was no longer a man she was afraid of. Little did she know how much self restraint Erik needed to be nothing but a music teacher to her. The more he heard her sing, the worse the pain in his heart got. He loved her, loved her so much he was even willing to sacrifice his own dreams for her sake. He knew he would forever be haunted by his past, he would never be free, and he knew perfectly well that he was still an outcast - he did not even want her to share in his disgrace. He had been selfish to wish for a wife, someone to be at his side no matter what happened or where he had to go. But now he thought it was better if he was alone - he didn't dare to think what it would be like to be his wife and suffer the humiliation that would come with this status.

What he did now was his farewell gift to her. She should fulfill her dream. If she got married to another man - let her. Erik still clung to the tiny hope that she would one day find out that her marriage had been a mistake and return to her career as prima donna. He did not even want to make her his wife now, Erik was surprised at this realization. He had not been able to care for his friends properly, he had far too often raised his hand against them and he did not trust himself to be always able to keep his temper in check around Christine. It was better if he did not stay too close to her, to protect her from the danger that was he himself.

* * *

Erik even told the doctor about his thoughts and the doctor complimented him: "That is good, Erik. You are willing to accept her decision, that is really very very good."

"If it is good, why does it hurt so much?" Erik complained, "I know it is the right thing to do to let her go. But it still hurts. Although I have to admit that... it must have been painful for her too. She is so... she's worse than when I first heard her. She lost all faith in her voice when I... well... you know. I left her after a quarrel where I told her she wasn't good enough. I'm trying to undo the damage I caused with careless cruel words in my anger. I have to. I would never forgive myself destroying her love for music."

"You are still busy making up for past misdeeds," the doctor summarized.

Erik laughed bitterly. "I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for my past." He looked at his three friends who were playing with the doctor's stethoscope and his face softened. "It is not that bad. I'm not alone now. It is like - Christine is... an eagle. I freed her from her eggshell, I raised her, nurtured her voice and now I teach her to fly. But I cannot fly myself, all I can do is watching her fly high into the sky. If I keep her on a leash or in a cage - and be it a large golden cage - she will never fly. She would wither like a flower without sunlight. I love her too much to condemn her to such a fate. No. I am now teaching her to fly, after I discouraged her from doing it, and then... I set her free."

"What caused you to come to this really admirable decision?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"I like to play the martyr," Erik answered, in bitter self-mockery, then shook his head and decided to tell the truth: "Actually it was as you predicted - a long and painful procedure. The Vicomte was right, there never was a choice between him or me - it was the choice marry him or her career as a singer." Erik rested his chin in his hands. "You know what my life is like now. I live together with my friends in the workshop, I do not even have one room for myself, no decent flat. I do not have any money and if I ever get some the managers of the opera house will be there like two feisty ticks and demand ' **compensation** '."

Dr. Benevole raised his eyebrows. "I know that you have some secret deal with Gontier and earn much more than you let on," he reminded Erik.

Erik allowed himself an awkward grin. "Come on - this is perfectly normal. Name one man in Paris who pays his taxes honestly."

"Clemenceau?" the doctor suggested.

"Maybe, but that only because he has no choice," Erik replied, "No, to be true, I have seen what people do to Madame Buquet who is just my co-worker. I do not want to know what a wife of mine would have to suffer. No. I cannot do this to her, never."

"Is it really that bad?" the doctor asked.

Erik nodded. "Some people tolerate me, the taxadviser likes my money, the female doctor likes my music, the policemen like my beer - but most people hate me. I'm still the primary target for gossip, mockery and cruel little tricks. But what can I do? In another neighborhood it would not be different at all. The stares, the gossip, the complaints to the police, boys throwing dirt at me, smashed windows, dead rats at the doorstep... I do not even want Christine to be at my side in this. She deserves better. That is what love is about, isn't it? To put her happiness before my own." He sat up straight and added with a grin that bared his teeth: "And if the Vicomte does not keep her happy for the rest of her natural life I will take great pleasure in punishing him for every minute she was not happy!"


	63. Chaperone

**Education of the Heart**

 **Chaperone**

Erik was surprised what great progress Christine made just because he was teaching her again - and he did not do much. He just sang with her, accompanied her on the piano. He was not using any specific technique, he just took what was already there and nurtured it. Erik had always thought music was something that should come naturally. And Christine had this music - she sang as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Carlotta hit the right notes, yes, but it didn't come naturally, Erik could always tell which technique she was using when. Christine just sang and if he asked her how she did it she would not know. She only mistrusted her own instincts and preferred to stay in control and think instead of just doing it.

Only with Erik she just let go. She had the voice, the talent, the technique - she just needed not to restrain herself for fear of a false note. Sometimes one false note was not even bad when it came naturally with the strong acting. All Erik had to do was to make her forget her fear because the more she was afraid, the more she restrained herself. It was like a vicious circle - one false note or bad critique and she restrained herself even more, this causing her to make more mistakes and her performance became somewhat mechanic, even more mechanic than any mechanic doll Erik had ever created, which caused bad critiques and - well intended but not really helpful - good advise from Reyer.

All Erik had to do was to break that vicious circle again as he had done before. It was far easier this time for he knew what she needed. She needed a playful musical exchange with him and the feeling that there was no right or wrong, just music. She needed to relax and just live the music. And he did not even know how he taught her - it was a mixture of encouraging her and giving her something to think of other than the terrible ' _I hope no one notices my mistakes_ ' that made her clench all muscles and hold back when singing.

And Erik noticed something else - Christine and the old female doctor became friends. This was no great wonder, the doctor was very good in making new friends, she had this certain skill he lacked. If this old woman would go to a concert hall where she knew no one she would, after two hours, have found at least sixty new friends an knew all gossip about everyone. After four hours she would even know the gossip about everyone's families. She was just a great listener and gave the impression to be just a harmless, helpless old woman, like she was everybody's grandmother.

Erik was still a bit scared of her. He strongly disliked how she was able to make friends with everyone and gain everyone's trust within moments. He was sure she knew much more about him than everyone else, including Dr. Benevole. The old woman had her ways, these were polite, friendly, helpful and with much humor. Everyone liked her and trusted her. That made her suspicious in Erik's eyes.

When Erik was late for the music lessons - which happened far too often because a customer had come to the shop and he couldn't just throw that person out - he overheard Christine and the doctor laughing and chatting. And bit by bit the doctor knew much more about Christine's feelings for Raoul and Erik and the strange affair than Erik himself knew.

When he came to the doctor's salon he could hear the two women giggling like schoolgirls. He decided to wait a bit and listen what they were saying. It didn't take long and he learned that the doctor gave the young singer advise how to treat men: "Men are like dogs. There are different breeds of dogs, first you need to know which one fits you. If you can't handle a large watchdog you better get yourself a lapdog. Like dogs men need to be tamed and well-bred, remember, some need a strong hand and with some you are better off with politeness and treats. But be careful with treats - some tend to put on too much weight." The giggled. "Your Raoul - he's clearly some well-bred lapdog, easy to handle for the beginner. Your singing teacher, Erik, is like a Dobermann dog, difficult to control and prone to biting."

Erik decided to knock and open the door. "Good evening, Madame, Mademoiselle - or would you prefer if I say 'woof'?" He was clearly angry, not so much with the doctor but with Christine who had told the old woman far too much.

"Monsieur Morriere - where are your friends? The dice are set, the hot chocolate is ready and I can't wait to play with them."

Erik laughed. He couldn't help. The old woman knew what she was doing - shamelessly manipulating him with her helpfulness. "I told them to wash their hands before coming here. We had to clean up again."

"Again?" the doctor sighed, showing genuine concern "What was it this time? Eggs, dead rats?"

"Dog excrement thrown at the windows. The tight-knit web of wire hinders them to smash the glass but makes it difficult to clean up such mess," Erik sighed and could have slapped himself for just answering her question. He had not intended to tell her, but with her friendly concern for everyone's well-being - even his - she could even manipulate him. If she would decide to act as the Phantom she would have been far more effective than him, Erik thought, but everyone would have loved her.

"Cheat!" they heard Dede's voice.

"No cheat!" Rene shot back.

The three men entered the room, still discussing something about cheating. Erik decided to stop them: "No cheating! I told you, cheating is very bad, it is like betraying, like lying. Very very bad! No one likes a liar!"

Christine couldn't help chuckling. Was this really Erik, the master of deception and lies, who told them that lying was bad?

"Why show us?" Dede asked, completely confused.

"I showed you dice tricks for fun, not for using them!" Erik rebuked them, "You have to listen to what I tell you!"

"Don't be such a strict teacher, they are just making fun," the old doctor interfered and led them to the table where she had already put up their little dice game. It was a game they all played together. One of those games where either all lost or all won like the three mongoloid men liked. They didn't understand competing with each other for fun - a competition was not much fun for them.

"Let's do the warm-up," Erik suggested and glared at the round table where the female doctor was laughing and having fun with his friends and the dice game. They were loud now but when the real singing lesson began they would be silent, as usual.

It was a rather normal singing lesson, except that the female doctor insisted that they would have tea after the singing. "A parched throat is not good for the voice," she said and Erik shook his head. Clever manipulation, he mused, but knew already that he would never be able to do that himself.

"Such nice young gentlemen to spend an evening with a lonely old widow," the female doctor said and all laughed. She was not lonely, never. "Tell me, when is that singing contest?"

"In two weeks time," Christine said.

"A yes, Madame Giry told me that there are no tickets left," the doctor replied, "I guess you will win."

"Wait a minute - you know Madame Giry?" Erik was not comfortable with this. He hated when people who knew him knew each other - they would surely talk about him and all of his small lies would be revealed sooner or later.

"Of course. My son is a member of the orchestra, as you might recall. So... which arias do you plan to sing?"

Erik decided to interfere before Christine could answer: "We haven't decided yet."

Christine noticed how nervous Erik suddenly was. "I mustn't keep Raoul waiting," she said and got up. Erik flinched. He had successfully blocked out that this was not going on forever but he had only two weeks left and then hopefully help her learning the new role in not more than two months.

"Friday and Monday, same time, if our kind host agrees?" Erik asked, she had already told him, but he needed to hear it again, not trusting his memory.

Christine confirmed it, bid them goodby and left.

Erik got up and told his friends to get their cloaks, they would go now. "Thank you, Madame, for your hospitality. I really appreciate this, especially for the music lessons. It would have been highly improper in any other way."

"I have to thank you - for the wonderful music. I get a free concert twice a week this way."

"And the neighbors do not complain?" Erik asked curiously.

The old doctor chuckled. "No. Only when you play the piano in your workshop - which is much quieter. It is so very interesting to listen to them. Their gossiping tells me so much about their characters."

Erik laughed. She could make it sound so easy. But she was not the one who would have to wash dirt off her cloak regularly or spend hours with the police to explain that she had done nothing. He just wondered what she had learned about him so far from the Girys and Christine - and when she would call him a shameless liar and shame him in front of someone whose opinion of him really mattered to him. It was a shock to realize that there actually **were** people whom he liked and did not want to think ill of him. He would have to adjust to the new situation and stop telling small lies every so often - or conceal them better so no one would find out.


	64. Two Sopranos and No Phantom

**Education of the Heart**

 **Two Sopranos and No Phantom**

Soon before the public audition for the role of Leila the journalists of the tabloid press speculated that this was to be a " _duel of divas_ " and " _showdown between sopranos_ " - and of course they expected the notorious Phantom to interfere somehow. Andre and Firmin discussed over reading the newspapers if they actually should ask "the Phantom fellow" if he could show up just to make journalists happy, but decided ultimately against this. It would be like admitting that he had been good for something, which they would certainly not do.

Erik had a hard time convincing himself not to interfere. He knew that the managers had invited the best ten musicians they could get in Paris - among them their conductor Reyer - and they would chose the best singer. The audience would be allowed to listen to the public audition. This could, of course, be manipulated somehow and Erik had at least six ideas how to do it - and decided ultimately against all of them. He had discussed it with Dr. Benevole - always using hypothetical subjunctive in his speech just to make sure the doctor would not assume he actually planned to do something - and finally accepted that if he interfered again, it would harm Christine, because then she would know for sure that he did not trust her to be the better singer as he always claimed but she would never have had any success without him, damaging her self-esteem that he really wanted to further. It was a tough decision for he did not know if he would be able to cope with her losing in the public audition.

"I thought you trusted her to win?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"Yes - if it was fair. I trust her voice, but I do not trust humanity. Believe me, doctor, the human race is made of the most egoistical, back-stabbing, sadistic stuff. They would crush her just for fun!" Erik complained.

"Are we back to grouching?" Dr. Benevole asked and rolled his eyes. It was a typical behavior of Erik to blame everyone else if he was nervous or assumed something was not going the way he had hoped it would.

Erik stared at the doctor, then smiled: "What did you expect me to do? Trust a jury of the ten best musicians in Paris if I am not one of them?" He chuckled.

"Do you want to prove yourself as musician or do you want her to prove herself?" the doctor asked a bit annoyed.

"Her, of course. She should prove herself in a fair competition against others, but with a fail-safe plan setting in automatically to prevent her from failing."

"HA!" the doctor exclaimed laughing, "Do you even hear yourself talking? How fair could any competition be if you make sure that she cannot lose? Don't you trust her to do it herself?"

"Yes... no... I should trust her, shouldn't I? But... she's such a naive young girl... I could not endure it to see her hurt in any way."

"You are talking like a father," Dr. Benevole informed him, "Which is - in my professional opinion - a very good development. As a father, or fatherly friend, you will eventually have to see your 'little girl' grow up and stand on her own feet. You cannot protect her and expect her to do it herself the same moment."

"Why not? She can do it herself - I just want to be a safety net for her," Erik argued, much to the doctor's amusement. Finally Erik accepted that he could no nothing but teach her and then hope for the best. He could always kill the managers afterwards, Erik thought and wondered if he would really do it or just daydream like he had done many times.

* * *

It was the evening of the audition. Erik had been debating with himself if he should go to the opera and listen - just listen - or not. He had promised to Dr. Benevole, to Christine, to the Girys and even to the female doctor that he would not go there, but now he decided to tell Maurice to go home and Dede, Rene and Jules to go to bed early. He would just take a short evening stroll to relax his shoulders, sitting hunched over a desk all day long could not be healthy.

He was still arguing with himself if he should go there - the risk was tremendous, he was only mere weeks before being declared cured and forever rid of the threat of having to stand trial for his deeds as Phantom of the Opera, but if he failed now, the last three years would be in vain. Three years, had it really been that long? At the beginning he had thought he would never survive a few months and now it was three years - and he had changed more than he himself cared to admit. Some things he had done without thinking at that time made him cringe in shame nowadays.

He was too deep in thought that night to notice other passers-by. There were many men in the streets despite the cold weather in February. Erik barely noticed the stares and the occasional shoves and kicks others aimed at him. Someone spit at him, he ignored it.

A man suddenly grabbed his shoulder and hissed: "Payday" just the moment Erik felt a painful punch in his lower abdomen. He pushed the man away, the other one fell to the ground, got up again and ran.

Erik wondered what had happened. He could not recall that man's face, he had no idea if this man was someone he had wronged once or not, it was entirely possible, but he would never know now. He looked around and saw other people stare at him. "I did nothing to him!" he exclaimed and turned to walk - the next moment he found himself lying on the street. People were walking past him, ignoring him. What had happened? He tried to move and felt a sharp pain.

He reached for his stomach and found his shirt wet. As he brought his hand up he saw in the dim gaslight of the streetlamps that it was red with blood. He had been stabbed. Oddly he did not feel much pain, he felt like he had been punched, but it wasn't even a hard blow. Getting to his feet was not easy. Even if he didn't feel the pain that much, he felt lightheaded and dizzy. He needed to get home so he could clean and bandage the wound. He needed a bandage, the blood was soaking his shirt and his trousers already. He could always come back to the opera later.

* * *

The managers were happy. They had not expected so many singers to try their luck, but the more, the better. But it was no wonder that Christine Daae and Carlotta Guidicelli would be the only two who were considered worthy of the leading role. It was a full house and they thought that maybe they should do this in the future too - selling tickets for something that would otherwise have been a horribly boring audition. The presence of an audience prevented Carlotta from her usual temper tantrums and they made good money that day, not to forget the publicity this had created.

Of course the audience was not here just to hear the best sopranos of France, no, they were here hoping for a scandal or something really weird to happen. Some were a bit disappointed that they only got to hear music. At least they could hear the newest gossip about the upper classes and present themselves as highly educated music lovers.

Christine was astonishingly calm, knowing she had already won for she counted on Erik manipulating the audition in her favor. So she could just sing, anything else didn't matter, he would do the rest. She was absolutely sure Erik would not be able to keep his promise not to interfere and right now it was reassuring and calming to know she could not lose. No way. He would never allow that.

The last test was to have first Christine, then Carlotta sing the aria of Leila - _Me voilà seule dans la nuit...Comme autrefois -_ and everyone knew that they expected Carlotta to win, because Carlotta was the last one to sing, to be the height of the evening.

Only that it wasn't. The height of the evening was Christine, who had decided just to sing for it didn't matter what she was doing or not, she was sure Erik was manipulating the audition again, she could not lose. Whatever Erik was up to - bribing the jury or doing something to Carlotta - she had no idea but to her great surprise she found it comforting to know that he was somewhere unnoticed by anyone making sure she would win. So she sang, concentrating purely on the music, on the aria and the role she was singing.

The chitchat and gossiping in the audience suddenly stopped as she sang. She had been good that evening before, but now she sang as if nothing else mattered in the world than music, she seemed to have forgotten everything around her, she sang as if she was not a mere human singing but as if she was music incarnate. Even the other singers who were nervously waiting behind the stage, stopped chatting and fidgeting around and listened in awe. Even Carlotta found nothing she could cavel about, much to her annoyance.

When Christine ended you could have heard a pin drop on the lush carpet floor for it was absolutely quiet, the audience entranced by the beauty of her heavenly voice.

It was the principal of the university institute for music who got up first and applauded her, then everyone broke into applause and cheering.

It was an unpleasant experience for Carlotta to sing that day. She would not back off, surely not, but when she appeared on stage she knew it would be difficult to surpass Christine. And this time her flaws did show even more, because everyone had just heard Christine. Carlotta's pianissimo was lacking in the high notes - she just had to sing a bit louder or she would not have been able to hit the highest notes - and an unwanted tremolo was clearly audible. It was not a bad performance and without Christine singing previous Carlotta surely would have captured the audience, but after Christine's supreme singing Carlotta's let on that she was growing old and her voice had lost its former glory.

Christine's victory was complete.

And Erik was not there to hear it.

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 _I hope you liked this chapter. Next chapter will be up next week. Please review!_


	65. Hospital Care

**Education of the Heart**

 **Hospital Care**

Erik woke on a narrow cot, staring at a grey wall and a grey ceiling. In the wall was a window, he could see a tree without any leaves and a grey winter sky. He felt nauseous and weak, just wanted to sleep but there was noise behind him. He was in a position slightly turned to the left, so he was not really lying on his back and not on his side. He tried to push himself up, but a sharp pain in his stomach caused him to sink back in the soft pillows with a pained groan.

His vision blurred and he shivered with cold, suddenly started retching and brought up some yellowish goo. He tried to move, not to mess up the bed he was lying in, but his body did not obey his will. He could do nothing but lie there, shuddering with cold and disgust, and hope for someone to help him. Being helpless was terrible.

"O watch out!" he heard a voice behind him, "Told you he'd be sick when he awakes. Why didn't you cover the pillows with some rugs?"

Erik forced his eyes open as strong hands grabbed him none too gently and pulled him up while someone else removed the pillows. As soon as the man who was holding him let go, he sank back onto his back. Now the man moved so he could see him. It was a strong man, rather short, and dressed like any other male nurse. The nurse was handed pillows with fresh linen and he helped Erik to lie down in much the same position as he had woken. Only this time some rugs were placed on the pillows and like a large napkin on Erik's breast, just in case he would be sick again.

"Thank you," Erik tried to say but it came only as a harsh whisper.

"How do you feel?" the nurse asked.

"Sick" Erik whispered tried to wet his lips. His throat was parched, he was so thirsty. "Water..." he begged. The nurse fetched a glass of water and held it to his lips, helping him drink. Erik could only concentrate on the task at hand, which was swallowing some water. It helped the nausea a bit.

"Where am I?" Erik asked, confused.

"In the hospital. I'll call the doctor, he told me to get him once you're awake."

Erik turned his head and now realized he was lying on a cot in a room with twenty other men, ten similar small beds in rows on each side of the room, a wide aisle between them. Next to his bed was a small night table and then the wall with the window. The door was on the other side of the room. Erik found he was lucky that he could at least turn to the wall to hide his face from the others.

But that was not necessary. In the room were 19 other men and all of them had obviously suffered grave injuries, some wearing bandages on their heads, some with injuries just to their bodies. No one wondered about his face, he was just another injured man among them. He would have laughed, had the pain in his abdomen not stopped him from inhaling deeply.

"Is he conscious?" someone asked and Erik saw a young man. Could such a young man be a doctor?

"I guess," Erik answered himself, "Where am I?"

"In hospital. What is the last thing you remember?"

"I... was walking... someone punched me, then I noticed he had stabbed me... I wanted to go home," Erik answered, trying to recall what had happened. He couldn't remember that man's face or statue or even his voice.

"Nothing else?" the doctor asked.

"No... why am I here?"

"You were found lying in your blood in the street, only meters away from your shop. Madame Buquet called the doctor who brought you here. Without that old woman you would not be alive now, she made sure you got the best care and acted as guarantor for you," the doctor informed him.

Erik groaned. He knew he would never be able to pay the hospital bill and he hated to know the old lady would have to pay for him in the end. He needed to get home before the debt was too high.

That moment he could hear Dr. Benevole's voice. "Erik Morriere? Erik? How are you?"

Erik looked up and saw Dr. Benevole approaching his bed. Dr. Benevole took the notebook from his younger colleague and looked something up, then yelled at the younger man: "Are you mad? He's my patient, I gave strict instructions about him! No morphine! That man is a known drug-addict, you can't just go ahead and pump his veins full of that drug!"

"But sir, he was in such pain - we couldn't let him suffer!"

"Erik?" Dr. Benevole sat down at Erik's bed, "You have been stabbed. Thank heavens you escaped most of the impact so your inner organs are more or less unharmed. We have been able to clean the wound and stitch it up. The police wants you to testify about the attack, but I told them you are too weak now. Tell me, Erik, what happened?"

Erik sighed. He didn't want to talk, he wanted to be left alone and sleep, but the doctor's face showed genuine concern so he decided to tell him: "I wish I knew. Someone stabbed me. I tried to get home and woke up here. I can't remember much. Tell me, Dr. Benevole - what day is it? Is the audition at the opera over? Christine..."

"You mustn't get into a fret," Dr. Benevole cautioned him, "You lost much blood and suffered a severe, but not fatal, wound. According to the newspapers she gave a sublime performance, she won, and that's all I can tell you."

"Thank you," Erik breathed and leaned back in the pillows, closing his eyes. He just wanted to rest now.

* * *

Sleep was not something to come easily in that hospital room. In the afternoon visitors were allowed and the room was overcrowded with people standing at each bed, bringing some gifts or food for the patients or just came to talk to them and comfort them. All Erik could do was to turn to his side, grateful that he could turn to the wall - it would have been much worse if he had been somewhere in the middle of the rows. He was just being ignored.

After what seemed to be an eternity of intolerable noise the visitors were herded out. One of the patients needed to go to the toilet, but it was one who had lost his legs - he couldn't walk. He had to use a special chair with a chamber pot in the room. Erik hoped he would be spared the humiliation of having to use that chair in front of the other nineteen men.

Eventually he needed to go to the toilet, but getting up was close to impossible. He could not sit up, the pain in his stomach made it absolutely impossible to use his abdominal muscles. So he rolled onto his side with some difficulty and managed to push himself up - only to find himself lying on the floor next to the bed moments later. He must have slipped, he thought.

Strong hands grabbed him and pulled him up. "What do you think you are doing? Call a nurse if you need something - now back to bed!" the nurse scolded him.

Erik looked down at the smaller man. "I need to... um... use the restroom," he said awkwardly.

"Alright. I'll get the chair with toilet for you. Sit down!"

"No. Isn't there a restroom? Please... I can go there," Erik begged, for the first time noticing he was wearing nothing but a nightshirt.

The nurse looked at him skeptically. "We can try," he answered and grabbed Erik's right arm, put it around his own shoulders and put his left arm around Erik's torso, supporting him. To Erik's humiliation he soon realized he wouldn't have made it out of the room without the other man's help. He would have fallen helplessly after the first three steps. But now he made it to the public toilets on the other side of the corridor.

"Would you... leave me alone, please?" Erik begged as the other man helped him to sit down on the modern indoor toilet.

"Right. Here - use the handholds to your right and left. I'm outside the door, call me if you need help."

It was humiliating, but right now he couldn't care about that. He needed to relief himself badly and this was better than using that horrible chair with toilet in the room for everybody to see. When he finished he thought he could get up alone but soon found out that he was not able to let go of the handholds or he would topple forward and fall to the floor helplessly. "Sorry..." he mumbled awkwardly, not knowing how to address the nurse.

The male nurse came in with some cut newspapers. "I'll help you cleaning up," he said.

"I can do it myself!" Erik's protests would have sounded far more believable if he hadn't nearly fainted when he tried to get up.

"Whoa, take it slowly! Let me help you or you hurt yourself!" Disgusting, humiliating and shameful. There were no other words to describe what happened, but it was necessary. Erik could do nothing, he felt so very weak, he could barely make it back to his bed, even with the help of the nurse who was more carrying him than just supporting him. At least he was exhausted enough to sleep now despite the other men in the room and the noise they made, some snoring, some talking, some moaning in pain or calling for help because they needed something.

He woke early, before sunrise, because some nurses and doctors came in to check on their patients. One had died over night and his body was removed from the bed. Erik looked curiously. That man had been burned by burning hot lye in a laundry. His face was barely recognizable, both eyes destroyed. The doctors discussed that it must have been the lungs that finally gave out.

When they came to Erik's bed, one doctor informed the others that this was the stabbing victim and Dr. Benevole's psychiatry patient. He was considered 'almost cured' from criminal insanity and therefore harmless. No drugs allowed for known drug addiction, but since his digestive system was not harmed he could be given all kinds of food.

"I can hear you!" Erik protested, he hated being treated like he wasn't human. The doctor shot him an indignant glance and continued to tell the others about Erik, treating him like he was just a dumb animal. Erik sat up and suddenly the doctors stared at him, some of them going pale.

"You... can sit up?" one asked astonished, "Aren't you in pain?"

"It is a little discomfort," Erik stated, "Nothing more. Can I go home? I need to go back to work."

"Little discomfort?" one of the doctors asked dumbfounded.

"Yes, I feel fine," Erik answered and stood up to prove that he could stand. A care worker rushed to catch him should he fall but he remained on his feet, trying not to show any weakness. He needed to get away from that horrible room as soon as possible.

"O no, you stay here at least for this week," one of the doctors informed him, "The danger of infection and complications is not over yet."

When the doctors were gone a female nurse came in with breakfast for the patients. Four of the men felt compelled to make impudent remarks about women who worked.

"O shut up!" Erik snapped, making his voice sound as threatening as possible, then, as the nurse handed him a plate with some bread and a cup of tea, thanked her politely. He wondered why this woman didn't react to his face at all, but then, this was a room full of men with terrible injuries, most of them left horribly maimed and disfigured. He was not the one looking worst in this room.

When he sat on his bed he dared to look at the men in the bed at his right side. He was young and had lost his left arm and part of his shoulder. He seemed to be close to recovery, bandages already removed, leaving his face openly visible. The left half of his lower jaw was missing as was the flesh of his left jaw and part of his lips, leaving the mouth constantly open, making it difficult to eat or drink without the food and water constantly dripping through the large hole in his face. The left ear was missing completely, the eye was badly damaged and blind.

"What happened to you?" Erik asked sympathetically.

"Explosion. I'm a engine driver," he said and turned his head, still eating his porridge with a spoon, "And you?"

"Been stabbed," Erik answered, glad that the young man could speak. It was a little hard to understand him, but it was possible.

"Your face?"

"O that... no, that is... long ago," Erik answered, not wanting to discuss his disfigurement.

"I'm David."

"Erik"

"A mask could help," Erik said.

"How?" David asked, not understanding.

"Your face. It would be possible to create a mask that would cover your wound. It might even help eating. I could do that, I have plenty experience with creating masks," Erik offered. He didn't know why but he felt compelled to help the younger man somehow.

* * *

Morning war rather boring for there was nothing to do. Erik was able to walk again, slowly and carefully like an old man, always holding onto something or with one hand at the wall to support himself, but he could walk on his own without help. Soon he started walking around, not wanting to have nothing to do but watch other men who were either groaning in pain or as bored as he himself was, and the male nurse who had helped him at the first day gave him a worn grey dressing gown so he would not be cold. It didn't take long until Erik was fetching tea from the tea kitchen that was only for the doctors and newspapers from the same room, not just for him but for David and two other of his roommates who were not able to use their legs due to their accidents. Needless to say that neither the doctors nor the care workers were happy with one patient out of his bed and fetching things...

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 _to be continued..._


	66. Hospital Care (cont)

**Education of the Heart**

 **Hospital Care (cont.)**

That day David had a visitor. It was a young woman, she looked like she had been crying. Erik turned away instinctively, trying to hide himself, but all visitors would have ignored him anyways.

"David, here... is your ring back," the young woman said, "I... I can't marry you. I'm sorry."

"But I love you!" David exclaimed, "I love you!"

"I can't live on love alone, David," the young woman stated, "I can only marry a man who can support his family, not a cripple in dire need of care. I am really sorry for you are a nice man, really David, I love you, but... I can't live like that." She placed the ring on his night table.

"But Jaqueline... if you love me..." David argued helplessly.

"I am not able to care for a cripple for the rest of my life. And I... sorry, but I can't stand to look at you now, it's too disgusting. I am really sorry, David, but with only one arm you can't work, you can't earn money, you are dependent on care and I am just a poor young girl, I can't do this."

"I'll die without you," David cried, "I'd rather kill myself than living without you!"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot do this." She left, crying.

"Don't go! Jaqueline, if you leave now, you're going to regret this! I'll kill you!"

All men in the room were quiet now. They all worried about their families and their own lives, knowing they would lose their jobs and become a huge burden for their families. Would they care for them or would they end as beggars or in the almshouse?

Erik got up and sat on Davids bed. "David?" he said quietly.

"Leave me alone!"

"No. David, look at me!" The younger man looked up. "Look at me carefully!" Erik insisted. David stared at Erik's face, but not in any way it could possibly offend Erik now. "I know what you are going through now," Erik whispered, tears welling up in his own eyes, "I, too, am unhappily in love. But... suicide is no option. Neither is murder."

"I just want to be together with her, I... I love her!" David cried and suddenly hugged Erik, holding onto him as if he was an anchor that saved him from being washed away in a flood.

"Yes, I know," Erik answered, feeling absolutely odd that he was giving the younger man good advise after all he's been through himself.

"If I can't have her, no one shall ever have her!" David went on, torn between anger and despair.

Erik returned the embrace despite the pain it caused in his stomach. "I've been through this myself," he whispered, "Don't do this to yourself."

"What do you know? I'm an engine driver! With only one hand I can't shovel coals, I can't work at all with one hand! I can't even eat anything but this damnable porridge and make a mess of myself constantly. Who wants to be friends with a drooling, disgusting freak?" David cried and suddenly Erik pushed him away, but still held his shoulders - or what was left of his left shoulder.

"Look at me!" Erik demanded and David forced himself to look. "What do you see?" Erik demanded harshly.

"I don't..."

"No excuses, David, what do you see? Am I good looking? Before your accident - would you have wanted to be my friend? Or would you have stared at me and mocked me, even beat me up and spit in my face in disgust? Would you have told me I'm too ugly to live, that I should be kept in an asylum for my ugliness is unacceptable for society?" Erik demanded harshly.

David looked away, confirming Erik's suspicions.

Erik went on: "Then you are just wallowing in self-pity because now you are what you always loathed and hated."

"I didn't mean to offend you," David answered like a shy boy.

Erik sighed. "I understand. It is hard, I know, but... suicide won't help and killing her would only make everything worse."

"What can I do? She's right, my life is over, I'm a nursing case now!"

"Am I a nursing case? No! You still have one eye and one strong arm and two legs, don't you? We could cover that part of your face with a mask then it would be easier, believe me, I know what I'm talking about. It is not hopeless, you mustn't give up!" Why was he so eager to help that man? Erik didn't understand himself. Maybe he was doing this because it was exactly what he wished someone else had done for him in time - how much suffering he would have been spared! But David didn't seem to believe him right now.

"I wish the accident had killed me," David whispered. Erik decided not to try to argue. He let go of David and climbed onto his own bed, he was exhausted after having been on his feet too much despite the doctor's warnings not to get up. He needed rest himself, he felt cold and lightheaded.

* * *

It was not easy to sleep, especially because Erik - other than other patients - was not allowed to take laudanum to help him sleep or ease the pain. Erik himself did not consider himself to be in pain, much to his great surprise, he felt just weak from the loss of blood, but otherwise not that bad. The other patients were either snoring or groaning or weeping and one had a highly improper idea about how to relax. Erik turned to the window, deciding he should leave as soon as possible.

* * *

After a horrible night Erik was woken by the usual invasion of doctors, nurses and care workers in the morning, he felt as if he had just fallen asleep moments before the hubbub started.

The doctors told him to undress so they could take off the bandages and see if his wound was healing properly. Erik hated to have to pull up the nightshirt and bare his lower abdomen in the room with so many other men, but modesty seemed to be absolutely forbidden in the hospital. He had to comply if he wanted to get better. It was easier because he knew the others would be treated the same way. The doctors looked at the wound, discussed something, took notes and then left it to the nurse to redress the wound. Erik used that opportunity to get some bandages from the bag the nurse carried with him.

The wound was healing well and one of the doctors told a care worker to give Erik warm socks and slippers, he was strong enough now to testify to the police.

Erik was afraid of that - what would the police do to him, what would they ask him? Would he be accused of attacking someone as it had happened far too often in the past? He hated to have to walk through the corridors of the hospital dressed only in a nightshirt, a dressing gown and socks, but he had no idea where his clothes were and how he could get them. At least he had covered his face in bandages now, making it look like he had suffered injury to his head as well, making him suddenly almost invisible in the hospital. An injured man in a hospital - nothing anyone would ever think about twice.

Erik was shown a tiny room he had thought to be a closet, now it turned out to be an office of sorts with two chairs and a tiny table. There was Claude Meunier.

"Claude!" Erik greeted, relieved this was a policeman he knew.

"Erik, how are you? They said you were close to death!" Claude replied and helped Erik to sit down, which was quite unnecessary, but Erik decided to act as if he was in severe pain now. Right now it was better to let everyone know that he was in pain, even if he felt much better than he let on, to prevent them from arresting him.

"I'll live," Erik answered, "What are you doing here? I was stabbed... I'm not entirely sure but it was close to the rue Auber." Rue Auber was close to the opera - where Erik still was forbidden to go alone. But he had thought about that too late. He was weaker than he wanted to admit.

"You were found near the entrance of your shop," Meunier asked, "How did you get there?"

"I wish I knew," Erik sighed, he could not remember that.

"Never mind. Tell me, Erik, the doctor said you have been stabbed. What do you remember?"

"I was..." Erik stopped himself before he could say that he was going to the opera to hear Christine. "...going for a walk because I could not sleep. There was this man. Shorter than me, but I do not remember much. He... hissed 'payday' and then I felt pain. First I thought it was just a blow, but... well... that's all I know."

"You do not know him?"

"No," Erik admitted, "I cannot remember his face or his voice and if I am to meet him again, I doubt I'd recognize him."

Claude sighed. "Then it is highly unlikely he will ever be caught."

"And what will happen to me?" Erik asked.

"Nothing. You are the victim in this," Claude answered, "By the way - get well soon!" He put his notebook in his suitcase and took out a tiny bottle of brandy which he handed to Erik. "You might need this - food in a hospital is not easy to stomach."

"Thank you," Erik answered, trying not to cry, "When I'm back we'll have a beer barrel together!" Why could every tiny gesture of sympathy make him feel like he should repay it at least a thousandfold? Why was he moved deeply by something anyone else would take for granted - and why couldn't he control his feelings? Why was he crying like a little girl?

* * *

The same day Dr. Benevole came to see Erik shortly after the patients had gotten their lunch. He had been told that Erik was taking another young man under his wing somehow and to the doctor this was a sign that Erik was doing well. He was surprised to see Erik walking the corridor with a huge tray with teacups.

"Erik! You mustn't try to carry anything!" he warned him.

Erik reacted rather undisturbed. "Why? This is the third time I'm fetching tea. Most of the other men in that room can't, I can, so why should we bother a nurse? I'm bored to death anyways, I'm glad to do this."

"And so you decided to play the hospital porter?" Dr. Benevole asked and took the tray. He wouldn't risk Erik ripping open the wound again just to prove his strength and endurance to the other injured men in that room.

Erik handed everyone a cup before he sat on his bed, Dr. Benevole moved a chair to his bedside so they could talk. "Thank you for the sickbed visit. Is it officially or were you just in this section of the hospital by chance?" Erik asked.

"I was worried about you," Dr. Benevole said.

"I am worried about my friends. Do you have any news?" Erik answered.

Dr. Benevole laughed. "We had to call Gontier to take them home for they refused to leave you and threatened to bring in enforcement."

"Enforcement?" Erik asked highly amused.

The doctor laughed. "Yes, the cat, the horse - although I doubt they would get it through the door - and Maurice."

Erik chuckled at the thought. "So they are being cared for. And the shop?"

"Ask Gontier - he asks every day if he can visit you. Seeing you on your feet, I guess we can allow that now."

"Great. Can I go home then?"

"Are you mad? You have been stabbed - you need to stay here for two weeks, then you might go home if everything is okay. Right now you wouldn't be able to wear trousers for the waistband would hurt too much!"

"By the way - where are my clothes?"

"They had to be cut off your body in the surgery that saved your life," Dr. Benevole informed him, "You need another set of clothes. Shall I ask someone to bring them?"

Erik didn't like the thought of some stranger going through his belongings. "Maybe... you ask Gontier to bring me a set of casual workmen's clothing? A new one? If someone tries to open my cupboard... I have some mousetraps in there and don't want anyone to lose his fingers... And maybe you can ask Maurice to bring my tools and the parts for the unfinished music-box-alarm-clocks. I could work here, the tools aren't that heavy."

Dr. Benevole rolled his eyes. Some things would never change around Erik and these were his need to protect himself and his belongings with some sort of traps and his workaholism. The doctor had seen the reports - Erik's wound had been severe, only an emergency surgery saving his life. He should not be able to sit up just now or carry something heavier than three kilogram weight - the tray with the tea was more than five kilogram. He was expected to be in severe pain and withholding the painkillers was a difficult decision but Dr. Benevole had finally decided that the pain would at least stop Erik from doing something foolish and warned the other doctors about the mental health and drug problems of this patient.

Only that Erik did not seem to be in much pain. How was that possible?

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 _That is something completely new for Erik - that the police does not treat him as the suspect, he is the victim now._


	67. Visitors

**Education of the Heart**

 **Visitors**

Erik had a lengthy discussion with Dr. Benevole why he had to stay in this part of the hospital and couldn't just move to the far more comfortable single rooms in the wing reserved for psychiatry patients, there he would have a room for himself alone, not just a bed in a large dormitory where he seldom found sleep.

Dr. Benevole decided not to give in. It was a good lecture for Erik to be with other men who had been severely injured and some of them lost limbs and were deformed now. Especially the way Erik had started to care for the young David was encouraging. "You are not mad - you are just injured. You are in the right section of the hospital," he told Erik, "If you want a room for yourself, you have to pay for it."

"Funny," Erik snorted, "I do not even have the money for this treatment, but your colleagues do not allow me to leave. I guess if my dear neighbor hadn't bailed for me I would be at home now! They just want the money and don't care if I could ever refund her."

"Erik, it is best for you. You see, David is not able to pay too - but he's staying as long as he needs to, then he can pay in monthly installments."

"Or never," Erik sighed, "I do not like this! Not paying the hospital bill and just telling them to wait in line for I have far too many creditors is one thing - but the doctor saved my life and I can't be ungrateful now!"

* * *

As soon as Erik was allowed to have visitors, Gontier came to visit him. He had Rene, Dede and Jules with him, even Maurice. Plus two large bags containing a special oil lamp with curved mirrors which would focus the light on a certain spot, tools and components for making watches and music boxes.

"Erik!" Dede exclaimed and the three were about to jump on Erik's bed, had Gontier not held them back for fear they might injure Erik if they embraced him too roughly.

"I thought you might be bored," Gontier said with a happy grin, "How are you?"

"Fine, thank you," Erik answered, as he tried to cover his face with the bandage, his three friends attempts to help him, making this absolutely impossible. Erik was of course sitting up like he always would, the slight discomfort in his abdomen wasn't that bad. "I hope you didn't dismiss me by now?"

"Would I have brought tools and your apprentice if I had?" Gontier answered, "No need to rush, you can work, if you like, if you feel not well enough, leave it."

"Hey, do you need more workers?" one of the other men called out.

"O yes, I too would love a job where I only have to work if I want to!"

"Sorry, guys, I already have him!" Gontier answered, "Erik, if you want to I can send Maurice each day with the components, you give him a list what you want and draw the measures for the wood and the painting. But only if you like to!"

"Yes, of course! I'm bored to death here!"

"Before I forget this..." Gontier handed Erik a large box of chocolates and a bottle of wine, "You might need it. Food in a hospital is sadly lacking. Get well soon, Maurice will keep me informed. If you need anything, just let me know."

"Actually - I would love to have clothes," Erik answered, still struggling with the bandage and trying to shoo away the helpful hands of his friends, "Trousers with braces, no belt. I can't wear a belt now."

"Okay, I see to that," Gontier promised, "But only if you promise to stay here until the doctors think you are ready to go home. I guess not having clothes prevented you from running, didn't it?"

"I promise," Erik sighed. He didn't feel strong enough to walk home anyways, he could run around in the hospital, but he knew he was still weak.

* * *

Erik decided to cover his face with the bandage because any time now the other patients might have visitors and he felt better if his face wasn't naked.

Only that this time he recognized a certain blonde before the hoard of visitors would be allowed to enter the room. He wondered how she had persuaded the nurses to allow her to visit him when it was not visiting hours.

"Meg Giry, what are you doing here?" he asked, astonished.

Meg smiled at him and he blushed with shame - he was lying on his bed, only dressed in the nightshirt, and tinkering with his tools. He was ashamed that she saw him like this. He didn't want a young girl to see him in bed barely dressed - no matter he was covered with a blanket.

One of the other men called out to Meg and soon others joined him, making rather vulgar jokes.

"Shut up or I tell your wives!" Erik barked.

"Oooo... now we're scared..." someone retorted mockingly, but Erik's words had the desired effect.

"That doctor lady told Christine when she came for her singing lesson, Christine told me," Meg explained, "I thought you would want these?" She handed him a bunch of newspapers. "Everything about Christine singing," Meg beamed, "I'm so proud of her! Did you hear her?"

"No," Erik admitted, "I was stabbed. Thank you, Mademoiselle, this is really... I do not know what to say..."

"You weren't even there?" Meg asked surprised, "O my. Then you missed her great triumph. And... you did not manipulate the audition somehow? Christine thinks you did."

"No! I did nothing of that sort - I was stabbed and undergoing emergency surgery!" Erik defended himself, "How would I ever be able to manipulate anything then?"

Meg thought about this. "I have to tell Christine!" she decided, "And my visit here has to stay a secret, mother does not know I'm here, don't tell her!"

* * *

In the afternoon at visiting hours many people came to see the patients. Among them a tall woman dressed in black carrying a basket. Erik looked up surprised to see Madame Giry. If this was going on like it had that day he wouldn't finish one watch while in hospital. Too many visitors, it was demanding and after every visit Erik needed to lie down and rest to recover.

"Hello Erik," she greeted him and looked for a place to set down her basket. The nighttable was full of tools and the lamp, a box with different things standing on the floor beside Erik's bed. "How are you?"

"I'm absolutely fine," Erik answered, "and have no idea why I am kept here." It was not entirely true, he felt weak and needed much rest, but he was not in pain.

"Christine told my daughter that someone tried to kill you," Madame Giry answered.

"Just a small wound," Erik dismissed it, "A cat has nine lives."

"Bad weeds grow tall, eh?" Madame Giry teased and uncovered the basket, "I thought I'll bring some fresh fruits. The food in hospitals..."

Erik blew his nose, trying not to let on that her gift brought tears to his eyes. If he was given edible gifts at that rate he would leave the hospital with twice the weight he had when he was brought here. He would be as huge as Piangi after only two weeks.

"Thank you, Madame Giry, this is very kind," Erik said, his voice quavering.

"Just don't tell Meg. I forbid her to come here - a room with twenty almost naked men is nothing a young girl like her should ever be," Madame Giry said, "She mustn't know I came here."

* * *

On Erik's fifth day in hospital Maurice brought the clothing he had required and his beige leather mask. Erik put it on with a sigh of relief. It was good to be able to cover himself properly again. Only he was not able to button the trousers. It was just wide brown workman's trousers, but with the bandages and Erik's now swollen abdomen he could not button it. Every pressure on his abdomen was too painful. But of course he would not tell the doctors, he wanted to go home and the price he had to pay for this was to pretend to be much stronger than he actually was.

He found a way to bring the other patients in that room to be quiet at night. Not the ones who were just in pain, if someone couldn't hold in a cry of pain he could forgive that, but those who had certain ways of relaxing he strongly disapproved of. He would just turn on his lamp and direct the spotlight to them. They couldn't very well scold him in that moment without shaming themselves.

Erik noticed that David had stopped speaking or eating or even drinking. It was the lack of water that worried the doctors who decided to threaten to force-feed him.

"You can't torture him!" Erik objected.

"This is none of your business. If you interfere, you will be restrained too," the care worker calmly replied.

"You can't do that! That would be torture!" Erik protested again, wondering why he was the only one to protect David, the other man just watched.

"We have to save his life," the care worker answered, "Now, do we really need to restrain you too?"

Erik turned to David, knowing he was in no condition to fight and if he did it wouldn't help: "David, listen to me - they are going to do it! I know what it would be like, don't do this to yourself. Don't suffer needlessly. Just take that glass of water and drink it!"

David answered passionately: "I won't! I don't want to live! They can't make me!"

"They can," Erik told him calmly, "And they will. I know that the railway company pays for your treatment, otherwise you would already be dying in some backyard. As long as they are paid, they need you alive. David, give in to them, believe me, I know what I am talking about!" He bend over David and forced him to look in his eyes, grabbing his shoulder, then he used his most commanding voice: "David, take the glass and drink! Now!" David sat up and drained the glass. Erik even managed to get him to drink a second glass of water, then he turned towards the care worker and the doctor with an annoyed snarl: "Are you satisfied? Now leave us alone, we're tired and need to rest!"

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik has more friends than he would ever believe he has._

 _Thank you for reading and please review! Have a nice weekend!_


	68. Be Good to Yourself

**Education of the Heart**

 **Be Good to Yourself**

The sixth day in hospital was not easy on Erik. Some of the other men had left the hospital, other injured men had been brought in, and two of them had just died in that night. Everyone was somewhat depressed the next morning, not just because they hadn't slept much, but because they had seen two men die. And in the morning two other men were brought in, so no beds were empty.

Erik was working on a pocket watch again. It helped being able to work, pretending he was doing something normal and his life would go on. It helped to block out what the other men were talking. All of them had the same problem - after their injury they would be left crippled and some of them deformed. They all were out of employment, didn't know how to pay the hospital bills and had no idea how they would be able to survive. Some got support from their families, some did not. The ones who weren't abandoned by their families were the lucky ones, but they worried about becoming a horrible burden to their wives and children who would have to care for them in the future.

David was staring at the ceiling, deep in thoughts. Whenever anyone said anything about a woman he seemed to flinch, with only half of his lower jaw and the missing flesh of the cheek he couldn't grimace. Erik noticed this but said nothing.

"Do you know this?" David asked suddenly, "The knowledge that you and everyone else would be better off if you had died in that terrible accident?"

"Yes, I do," Erik answered, "Only that it wasn't even an accident. I was born like this."

This caught David's attention. "You were born like this?" he asked surprised.

"Unbelievable, isn't it?" Erik mumbled and put away his tools, "That's why I told you I have so much experience making masks. You want one?"

"What good would that be?"

"It helps if others don't throw up or faint at seeing you - and in your case I guess not drooling would be nice," Erik tried to speak like a salesman who wanted to sell his goods and not treat David with pity. He got up to have a closer look at Davids almost healed wound. "We can't use paper-mache, we can't use silk. This would not stop the drooling or your eating problems. I guess we could try porcelain, but that is rather cold and hard, it would be uncomfortable if you try to speak or eat. No, I would suggest either rubber or leather. The leather would need much care, you know, like greasing to keep it water-proof, but..."

"You really want me to wear something like my shoes in my face?"

Erik pointed to his beige leather mask. "It is not that uncomfortable. Although we would have to experiment a little bit to find the right mixture to prevent the ugly taste of shoe polish in your mouth, but... well, I think we could always try bacon."

"Bacon? You would grease your leather mask with bacon?"

"No, because I don't need it. But you do - on the inside where your cheek is missing," Erik told him, "And then... well, I guess it would surely improve your looks."

"But it can't replace my arm. I'm good for nothing now," the young man complained.

"Surely there are things you can still do?"

"I never did anything but shoveling coals in my life. Being an engine driver is the best I could ever become... was the best. With one arm I'm useless," David sighed, "Its the almshouse for me now for the rest of my miserable life."

"You mustn't give up," Erik replied, "Do you think you could become a vendor with a vendor's tray? Your legs are strong, as is your back. You could sell something in the streets or parks - drinks in small bottles, cigars, cigarettes, chocolates..."

"How would I do that, with just one arm?"

"One arm can pull a lever, can't it?" Erik answered with a wide grin, "I could build you an automaton that would give the goods to the customers if you pull the right lever and I could make it in a way so you can operate and refill it with one hand. Vendor is an honorable job and I'm sure you could make it."

"With a mask?"

"If the mask is designed the right way it would look like part of the costume you wear to get the people's attention," Erik was much more enthusiastic about this idea than David, "You just need someone who thinks a man with a funny automaton selling things a good idea, so he invests in your business. Or maybe some restaurant at the Place Pigalle would want you to sell matches and cigars with a new automaton. I mean - men and women selling cigarettes and matches is something you find everywhere, but a man who has an automaton to help with the sells, that is something new. Surely someone will buy that idea."

"Maybe... but would you want that? To be an oddity to be stared at?" David asked.

"I've been there," Erik replied softly, "There are worse jobs in this world. But if you do not like this... how about nightguard in a museum?"

David considered this. "It would be possible, I guess," he answered reluctantly. The young man was still convinced he would never find any respectable job now, but nightguard didn't sound too bad to him now.

* * *

In the afternoon Erik waited for Maurice to come and pick up the finished watch and bring him more work. He had required the parts to build another clock-music box, one that would have a different dancer spinning on the tiny stage each hour. A different dancer for every full hour.

Maurice came with a large box with parts and tools. Behind him Dede, Rene and Jules, happily grinning and behind them the female doctor with her large bag which was usually full of sweets. Erik wondered if he should better run now, this was too much if all of them wanted to see him at once, but it was already too late.

"Erik!" Dede exclaimed and jumped on his bed, but not on Erik himself, which was good, the would might reopen if he put pressure to his stomach.

"I'm happy to see you too," Erik gasped and tried to fend off the three men who tried to hug him.

"Monsieur, where shall I leave this?" Maurice asked uncomfortably.

"Just put it on the floor next to the bed. And Maurice - in the box are the finished watches, take them to the shop, will you? Ouch! Rene, off with you! No one touches my belly - it might kill me!" Erik scolded his friends. They jumped off the bed and stood stock still, panicked that they might have killed their clever friend. "Don't worry, I'll survive," he assured them, "Just don't touch my belly."

The female doctor told Maurice and the three mongoloid men to wait outside and they obeyed. She approached Erik and took a box out of her bag. "I guess these are the cookies you like?" she said with a happy smile, "Food in hospitals..."

"Thank you, Madame," Erik answered, not knowing if he should be embarrassed or laugh, "I have not been able to thank you for saving my life, I'm afraid. And I do not know how to thank you properly..."

"Don't worry about that," the old lady waved her hand as if shooing away a fly, "In my age one doesn't get the chance to play the hero that often."

"I was told you started the treatment?" Erik asked curiously.

"O yes. I did what I could, then took you here in a carriage, but the surgeon who did the emergency surgery was someone else. Tell me, are you in pain?"

"Actually no."

"Painkillers?"

"None."

"Good boy!"

"Boy?" Erik laughed, "Are you actually calling me a **good boy**?"

The old lady smiled gently. "My dear boy, I have been a doctor before you were even born."

"Dear boy?" Erik didn't trust his ears. No one had ever called him dear - much less dear boy. He wished his mother had, at least once in his life, told him he was a good boy. The thought brought tears to his eyes.

The old lady placed her small, soft hand on Erik's long fingers. Her voice was so soft, even Erik with his keen hearing could barely understand her. "There is no need to hate yourself, my dear boy. Be good to yourself, the world isn't. They taught you to hate yourself, didn't they? You know, whoever taught you that you are unworthy of being loved was wrong. But you learned that lesson too well, didn't you?"

Erik could feel tears streaming from his eyes, he couldn't stop them. All he could do was desperately holding in the sob that threatened to escape his malformed lips. How was that possible? How could that old lady touch his heart as if all the mental shields he had build up to protect himself were not existing?

"Having a psychiatrist is all good and well, but even the best psychiatrist can't replace a mother," she said, suddenly changing into a professional doctor-tone.

"Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me? I've done nothing for you, it isn't even your job, you... why?" Erik whispered, not understanding why this old lady was helping him.

She sighed. "Because every boy needs a grandmother," she smiled and leaned forward to kiss Erik's unmasked cheek.

Erik stared at her speechless. He couldn't say anything and had stopped thinking. "No one ever..." he whispered, but never finished the sentence.

The old lady smiled at him, as she answered: "And now you are kissed by four young girls at once - well, in my age I guess I count as four girls, don't I?"

Erik chuckled despite himself. He still didn't understand what had happened just now, he had been kissed by a woman. Not the kiss he had hoped for, it was rather like a grandmother kissing her sick grandson, but it was... he had been kissed.

"Your grandmother?" David asked as the female doctor had left.

"No. She is my neighbor and... I have no idea why she likes me," Erik answered, still not able to think clearly.

* * *

That night Erik could not sleep. The events of that day had given him too much to think about.

"You asleep?" he heard David ask.

"No."

"I'm going home tomorrow," David said sadly, "If I still have a home. Since I didn't pay rent in the last weeks, I guess someone else has my room. Maybe my brother takes me in for a few days."

"I'm sorry," Erik answered, glad that he knew there was a bed ready for him in the workshop. He would have shelter and he would not be alone.

"This mask you spoke of - when can I have it?" David asked.

"As soon as I can leave the hospital," Erik answered, "But you know these doctors... they never tell any patient anything. I don't know when I can go home. Wait, I'll write down the address, you can find me in the shop."

"Thank you, Erik. When I came here, I thought it would have been better if I had died in that accident. That my life was over, I would never be good for anything, a deformed disgusting cripple and no one would ever love me now. I just wanted to die - and then you came. I see how many people come to visit you, how they bring you gifts and wish you well, how you are always optimistic and make plans for a better future. I really admire that, it gives me so much hope. Thank you."

There was no answer. Erik couldn't answer to this statement. He had never ever dreamed of anything like that, but now that the younger man told him he had to admit that he had been ungrateful for what he had - he must have been blind not to see that. His life was not what he had hoped for, but it was not really bad. He was not alone, he might not have a family but he had friends. He was ashamed of himself for failing to see what he already had in his life and never being satisfied with anything.


	69. Complications

**Education of the Heart**

 **Complications**

Erik was unhappy when David left, he had grown to like the young man - or maybe he was just recognizing similar traits in their character and situation. He had too much time to analyse himself and didn't like what he found. He looked at the other men in the room, they were in various states of recovery, and asked: "Who wants tea?" He had decided to get some tea for himself from the staff's kitchen - which was much better than the tea for the patients - and planned to bring some for the other men. He was grateful that he was able to walk and fetch things, there were men who had lost their legs or the ability to use them.

"That would be nice," another man said, one who couldn't get up for his spine had been broken in an accident in one of the factories.

When Erik came back with his tray and found Dr. Benevole arguing with the other doctors and the care workers. Erik was annoyed that he hadn't been able to escape from the medical round in the morning.

"Monsieur Morriere! How often do we have to tell you not to carry around heavy trays! What else than putting up a 'staff only' sign and locking the door do we have to do to keep you away from the staff's kitchen?" one of the young doctors scolded him annoyed.

Dr. Benevole sighed. "I warned you he wouldn't obey and that you have to control him better."

"He shouldn't be able to carry that much weight - we didn't give him any painkillers, the pain should be enough to keep him in bed," another doctor defended himself as Erik was busy handing out the tea to the other patients. He wore the clothing he had been given by Gontier, the trousers held in place by braces.

Suddenly Dr. Benevole noticed something. "Erik - let me examine you. Lie down on your bed and open the shirt and the trousers!"

Erik did as he was told, wondering why Dr. Benevole was suddenly worried. The doctor removed the bandages and saw that the wound was clean and healing fast - unusually fast that is. Erik seemed to be one of the few lucky men whose body was healing faster than the average man. What he didn't like was that Erik's abdomen was swollen. This could be some internal infection, which would be a reason for another surgery this day, or it could be something else, something more harmless. He used an eartrumpet to listen to the noises in Erik's stomach.

"When was he using the toilet the last time?" he asked worriedly.

"We don't know. The bastard hides everything he can from us," a young doctor complained, "How are we supposed to treat him?"

"Erik, when did you use the toilet?"

"This morning, why?"

"No, when did you defecate the last time?"

Erik blushed. This was nothing he wanted to talk about, but he reluctantly admitted: "Before I was brought here."

"Before? Erik, this is seven days! No wonder your abdomen is swollen! Do you know how dangerous this is? Obstruction of the intestines can be fatal! We need to do something about it, right now! And you, my dear colleagues, why didn't you notice his swollen abdomen? What is a medical round good when you just don't see him?" Dr. Benevole was so angry now, he was yelling at his colleagues.

"It is not our fault! He changes the bandages himself and avoids examinations!"

"Erik!" Dr. Benevole scolded, "Do you know what happens when faecal vomiting starts and intestinal rupture begins? Toxaemia and death - and it is a painful, disgusting and humiliating death. Do you want that?"

"No!" Erik was really frightened now. He hadn't even thought about this being in any way important - he didn't care much for his bodily functions, they just happened without him worrying about them in any way and of course he didn't count the days in between - but now that the doctor had told him he might die a gruesome death he was worried. "What can I do?"

"You get dressed in your nightshirt. Then a care worker will clysterize you and that should solve the problem," Dr. Benevole informed him and couldn't help grinning at Erik's shocked expression.

"But we don't have to do it here?" Erik asked, unwilling to suffer the humiliation of having to go through the procedure with so many other men staring at him.

"Of course. The toilet is just on the other side of the corridor - we couldn't get a better room," one of the doctors told him and he groaned, "You want this treatment or not?"

"What choice do I have?" Erik asked, close to panic.

"Do you want to live?"

* * *

The prescribed treatment was horribly painful. So painful, he didn't care that others were watching in fascinated disgust and some even in sympathy, especially those men who knew what he was going through.

"Try not to yell," the care worker advised, "If you clench your muscles it will be even more painful. There - that's it. Now, try to hold in as long as possible. And do us care workers a favor - run to the toilet before you lose it."

"You can't decide what you want, can you?" Erik groaned, "May I go now? Please?"

"Not yet" the care worker stared at his pocket watch.

"You need a new watch, yours stopped!" Erik complained. He felt like he would burst any moment now.

"Stay lying on your side and wait - just another minute!"

"I can't!" he moaned and jumped out of the bed, running as fast as possible now.

He would have been glad to be left alone now, but the care worker followed him.

"Please let me do this alone!" Erik moaned, he was in much pain, the muscles in his stomach cramping, the barely healed wound oozing blood and he felt as if he was torn apart from the inside.

"No. I have strict order from Dr. Benevole to keep an eye on you." The care worker held out his hands. "Here. Take my hands and try to breathe. Breathe. You'll be okay."

"Can you give me morphine, please? Something to ease the pain? **Please**?" Right now he didn't care about anything but the desperate wish for the pain to stop.

"What? Monsieur I-do-not-know-what-pain-is does not want painkillers after being stabbed and undergoing emergency surgery but begs for morphine just to shit?"

"Funny. I'm going to kill myself laughing when this is over!" Erik snapped.

"Good! As long as you're angry you aren't going to die!" The care worker wasn't disturbed by seeing Erik's face. This old care worker had been working in this part of the hospital for more than a decade, he had seen so many terribly maimed men, he would never look twice at Erik. What caused him to look carefully was the red blotch that showed on the bandages. The cramps in the muscles of Erik's stomach must have caused the wound to reopen a bit.

"It hurts!" Erik complained, then let out a scream as he felt as if the craps were tearing him apart internally. The next moment he let out a sigh of relief as the pain finally lessened and he felt the cramps subsiding.

"Just let go, it's going to be over soon," the care worker said, "You are quite strong, you are almost crushing my hands. This is good."

* * *

When the ordeal was finally over Erik felt like he might faint any moment now. The care worker offered to help him wash himself now. "Just stay seated. I'll be back with a bowl of warm water and a washcloth in a few seconds."

Erik tried not to faint now, he felt so very weak suddenly. He didn't care about anything now, just wanting to lie down and rest. He allowed the care worker to help him wash - he couldn't do it himself, he could barely move now - and take him back to his bed.

Not much later a very worried young doctor appeared and woke Erik. "How do you feel?" he asked.

"Tired and cold," Erik answered, "Why are you showing up now? I could have used a morphine injection before - now you are too late."

"I see your humor isn't affected. Let me see the wound - oops, this is not good. I need to clean and redress it. And... it seems you've managed to hurt yourself. Your rectum is bleeding," the doctor informed him, "In the next days you have to drink much water and eat a special laxative diet. Trust me, you wouldn't want something else. It is going to be painful enough as it is now."

"Painful? Does this mean I finally get some painkillers?" Erik asked, completely forgetting all good resolutions not to risk a relapse, right now he just wanted to forget everything, wipe out his ability to think and drift on a comfortable cloud of chemically induced well-being.

"No. Morphine counters the effect of the laxative diet," the doctor said, "And Dr. Benevole warned us about you being a recovered drug addicted, so you have to do without. I'm sorry. And now some general instructions: You don't eat or drink anything I haven't allowed you. You get up tomorrow and try to go for a walk in the corridors, this should help, but without carrying anything, understood? No fetching food or drinks or whatever for your roommates!"

"Yes, sir," Erik answered reluctantly. He didn't want to undergo another ordeal like that again. "When am I allowed to go home?"

"With two bleeding wounds? Are you mad? Another week at least!"

"The answer to your first question is: Why not? The answer to your second question is: Yes and to your information: Thank you," Erik answered with a grin. He loved the way the doctors face fell as he realized that he was not dealing with just another injured patient but one with mental issues as well.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _It is not easy to find out that the doctors were right and he put himself in danger with his behavior. Sometimes not feeling pain is worse than actually being in pain for now he hurt himself and has to suffer the humiliation that comes with this sort of treatment. Maybe he should have listened to the doctors..._


	70. Coming Home

**Education of the Heart**

 **Coming Home**

For two days Erik was bed-ridden with high fever, which brought some relief for the nurses, care workers and doctors who didn't need to worry about him running errors for his unfortunate roommates who could not walk bringing them foods and drinks they shouldn't really have and risking his own health working all day long.

At the third day the fever broke and he was allowed to walk round the hospital. The doctors had advised him to stay inside for the weather was cold and to walk as much as possible. The more he walked, the easier it would be on his already weak intestinal system. That, and much water and a special diet. That diet consisted mostly of choucroute and if he was allowed something sweet, apple puree.

He didn't want to go for a walk in sections where many patients, their visitors, nurses, care workers and doctors were. Despite his obvious injury - which would easily explain a bandage covering part of his face - he felt uncomfortable, especially because he felt so very weak. But in the hospital he found a very attractive place where he could be undisturbed - the pathology department in the cellars.

There was only an old man with a long white beard and thick glasses. This was the Professor of the pathology department of the medical university. When they first met, both men were startled because neither had expected to see a living man down there, but soon they found each other's company not too bad. The professor had a rather black humor and informed Erik that he preferred people dead because a corpse never tells a lie. He didn't object to Erik using the corridors as 'sports arena' as long as he didn't disturb him in his studies.

Of course Dr. Benevole was shocked when he wanted to see Erik and was told that he was in the pathology department. He rushed downstairs only to find a very much alive Erik who was busy dismantling a prothesis the Professor had just taken off a corpse. "That's just so crude - I'm sure I could do better than that!" Erik said, talking to himself.

"Erik! God, when they told me you were here, I thought you had died!" Dr. Benevole gasped.

"Really? Why?" Erik asked in surprise. It did not occur to him anyone would think him dead just because he was in the pathology department in the cellars.

"How are you?" Dr. Benevole asked.

"Much better, thank you. But please tell the chef that this diet is inedible!" Erik complained, "One more thing - can I go home?"

"Four days, Erik, and then you can go home."

"Fine. I'm too far behind with the orders, plus I have to make a mask for David and... well, now that I've seen this prosthesis I think I have a new idea. Tell me, Dr. Benevole, do you think I could make a living creating better prostheses and masks? Seeing how many men are here in this hospital who suffered disfigurement and lost limbs, I guess these things would be needed. If Gontier is willing to accept that the shop will sell not only watches, clocks, toys and music boxes - and I would need more men. Maurice is good, but only the two of us can never..."

"A very good idea - but, Erik, be reasonable: You are already working too much, aren't you? And most of the men here wouldn't be able to pay for these things, no matter how badly they need them," the doctor advised.

Erik was silent for some time. "It shouldn't be like that. But... I could at least make these things for those who can afford them, can't I?"

"I'll take that down for my statement to the magistrate. I'm currently writing it, I declare you cured and not dangerous. We have to wait for his official decision then, but Clemenceau will follow my suggestions. Congratulations, you will be a free man soon," Dr. Benevole said.

"Free... and with a clean record. I could start a new life," Erik mused, "But... I don't know what to do now?" He looked rather helpless.

"You already have managed to build up something good - you can stay, if you like," the doctor suggested, "You don't have to leave your employment or your friends. You can, but you do not have to."

"Leave them? Never!" Erik's shocked expression told the doctor enough. Erik hadn't even considered leaving. But then the masked man became sad and stared at the dismantled prosthesis in his hands. "I do not live the life I wanted. It feels - alien. As if I am living a life that was never meant for me. But it is not bad, you know. I think I can accept this, but... well, there is one thing - I have been visited by so many people, more than I ever dared to hope for, but not **her**. She did not come, did not send a letter, nothing."

"I'm sorry," Dr. Benevole said with much sympathy. He knew this was painful for Erik, painful but necessary. Erik had to accept that Christine Daae would soon become the Vicomtesse de Chagny and would never be his.

"Maybe it is better this way," Erik sighed, "I wouldn't have wanted her to see me like that."

* * *

As Erik was getting better each day he was more or less constantly busy working on watches and music boxes again, Maurice having to come at least twice a day to bring him the parts he needed or fetch the finished watches and boxes, much to the annoyance of doctors and nurses who soon argued that if he has able to work sitting on his bed he could as well be allowed to go home.

Erik was glad that he wouldn't have to spend more time in that hospital. He asked Maurice to bring Dede, Rene and Jules, they would have to help him carrying the boxes he would have to take home, he still had not made use of all the gifts he had been given, for he still couldn't carry anything heavier than three kilogram - or fifteen as he knew by now but didn't dare tell the doctors.

Maurice came dutifully with Dede, Rene and Jules and they were eager to help Erik, glad that they had him back now. "I can't lift anything now, so you have to be my arms and legs," he told them.

"As you're our head," Dede answered grinning, he was very proud that for now Erik was depending on them.

"Yes, together we make one absolutely invincible man, don't we?" Erik answered laughing.

Gontier waited for them with one of his carts and the horse Thunder. "Good Morning, Monsieur Morriere. I assumed you would need a ride?"

"On a garbage cart?" Erik laughed, "I guess I'm lucky that you didn't come here with a black carriage with black horses."

Gontier studied him carefully as Erik climbed up the cart with much difficulty, trying not to cause the wound to reopen. "I was afraid of losing you," Gontier stated, "You are irreplaceable as employee and guardian of my nephew. You are almost part of my family now. Every family needs a black sheep, eh?"

"Yours would need a white one!" Erik retorted playfully. He understood that Gontier was just teasing him and making fun was the best way to hide his real feelings. That man had just accepted him somehow as part of his family. A family... he had somehow found himself people who accepted him. Friends. He was no longer alone against the world, he had friends who supported him. Even Gontier seemed to care about him much more than he would ever care about any other employee, otherwise he wouldn't have come to take him home.

"By the way - the tax adviser said that with such a severe injury you can't work for at least six month and there will be a loss," Gontier informed him, "Just make sure you look sick if customers come. I already bought you a walking cane and casual clothing to heighten the effect. The clothing should be very loose fitting, but I guess that is what you need now. Keep complaining about being in pain and how terrible this assault was."

"The doctor said..." Erik objected.

Gontier grinned: "What does a doctor know about bookkeeping and taxes?"

"Fine. We are going to have a loss. There's just one question - how do we share the profit of this loss?"

* * *

When the cart came closer to the shop, Erik, who was sitting next to Gontier on the driver's seat, saw that some people had gathered and were waiting for him. It was easy to find Maurice among them, but there were Claude Meunier and three other policemen and the female doctor too, standing there as if they were waiting for him.

"Welcome home," Dede exclaimed, not longer able to hold back his excitement, "Surprise party!"

"What? How? Why?" Erik couldn't understand what was going on.

"We thought you need something to cheer you up," Gontier told him and clapped him on the shoulder in some rough camaraderie.

"But... why?" Erik asked, not understanding what this all was about.

"Erik, we are happy that you survived the attempted murder. So we want to celebrate together with you - is that so hard to understand?" Gontier told him a bit annoyed that Erik was not happy but confused and a little scared.

Erik stared at them as the cart stopped. He tried hard to fight back tears as Meunier reached out to help him off the cart. "Thank you. Thank you so much! I don't know what to say..."

"Erik back!" Jules hopped off the cart and ran to hug Erik as if he hadn't seen him in weeks, despite the fact that they had both been on the same cart all the way. He just felt that Erik should receive a proper greeting now.

Erik was pushed into the shop where someone had placed a cake and a bottle of wine on the counter. He noticed that Madame Giry and her daughter Meg were there, already busy filling the glasses. But he could not see Christine anywhere. "Madame Giry, do you know anything about Christine?" he asked, unable to think of anything else. So many people were there to celebrate with him, but the one person he had hoped to see most was not there.

Madame Giry and Meg exchanged a meaningful glance, then the older Giry answered: "Erik, she will not come. She asked about you and we told her about your recovery, but she is not part of your circle of friends and does not even want to be. She wants to know how you are and she wishes you well, but she won't come. She... will come next week for a singing lesson, to help her with the role of Leila."

Erik swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. He had expected this, but it was painful nevertheless. "I know. As future Vicomtesse she cannot afford to be friends with someone like me." He took a deep breath and put on a smile, he didn't want to disappoint his friends. He had friends now and they had gone through great length to make him happy, he wouldn't disappoint them. So he took one of the glasses and turned to them.

"My friends..." he started, but suddenly his voice failed him. He had just addressed them as friends and his heart told him this statement was true. "... I have no idea what to say."

This was met with laughter.

"Thank you. Thank you for this welcome!" What else was there to say? He had friends now, friends who cared for him. It suddenly felt so very right to be here, in this little shop, and stand together with them to drink some wine and accept their toasts.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Thanks for reading and please review! Next chapter will be up on Monday I think. Have a nice weekend!_


	71. Standing Trial

**Education of the Heart**

 **Standing Trial**

Erik experienced a strange feeling of being at home now. He was in the environment he had created and actually got used to, even if it wasn't anything he thought he would ever be able to like. He was with his friends and they were busy preventing him from lifting anything heavier than five kilogram. Someone - Erik suspected Dr. Benevole - had presented them with a spring scale and they were dutifully weighing everything he wanted to carry. To his annoyance he wasn't allowed to lift the pot after cooking, Rene did this for him.

Only two days after he came home Dr. Benevole and the magistrate Clemenceau came to see him. Erik was well enough to work, but his working speed was rather slow for he needed to lie down and rest every so often. He was still weakened.

"Can we talk in private?" Dr. Benevole asked and Erik told his friends to leave them alone in the workshop. They obeyed, but before they left they made the magistrate promise that he would take over their duty and prevent Erik from lifting anything heavier than five kilogram. The magistrate agreed, trying hard not to laugh.

When they were alone, Clemenceau opened his briefcase and took out an official paper. "Monsieur Morriere, I am here to inform you that your case has been carefully considered and the report from Dr. Benevole is positive. We need a formal procedure to end this, so there will be a court session - not a real trial, but you have to be there and testify on your own behalf. Then the judges will decide. I already talked to them and they are optimistic that they can declare you not guilty because of criminal insanity, but there is no need to imprison you in an asylum now for Dr. Benevole has declared you cured. After that court session you will be a free man."

"When will that court session be?" Erik asked.

"As soon as you are strong enough."

Erik considered this. "Yes, then make it as soon as possible - I think I am recovered."

"The report said it was murder attempt and you barely survived," Clemenceau reminded him, "The murderer is not caught and we doubt we will ever find him, you didn't recognize him, can't describe him and we found not one witness who could tell anything. I'm sorry."

Erik shrugged. To him it was nothing new to know that people would try to murder him and get away with it. He wasn't even angry, in fact, he was surprised that this time the police had tried to find the culprit, even if it had been in vain. Other than the usual crime victim he was rather calm. The assault hadn't shaken him because it had just been something he had expected to happen anyways sooner or later - and he knew he had been careless, so this was just a reminder to be more careful in the future, nothing more.

* * *

It was a sunny day in spring when the court session took place. It was looking like a formal court trial, only that Erik knew that if he didn't say anything entirely stupid he would leave the court building as a free man.

He strongly disliked having to sit where the defendant usually had to stand. Due to his injury he was not required to stand but allowed to sit. They had even allowed him to have his walking cane with him. Little did they know that the walking cane was made of steel and only painted to look like wood. It was a formidable weapon, especially when combined with the lasso he wore hidden in his suit.

There was a board of judges, but no prosecutor. Of course not, this was not a trial, but he disliked the situation.

And there were people watching. Journalists had been banned from the courtroom because in this session they would discuss most private matters like Erik's medical history and one of the judges had decided that was nothing to discuss in public, so the only listeners who were allowed to attend were those people Erik had consented that they might stay, which were only Gontier and the female doctor. Clemenceau and Dr. Benevole were there too, but they were sitting behind the judges as if they were part of the board of judges.

The presiding judge told Erik officially what this was about - his crimes as the so-called "Phantom of the Opera", including blackmail, kidnapping, murder and theft. Erik just nodded, not wanting to go into detail. But he was asked to tell them in his own words what he had done and why.

Erik looked down, the perfect picture of the repentant sinner, as he answered in a low voice: "Today I can hardly believe what I have done. At that time I felt like I was above all humanity, like I had a right to take what I wanted just because I wanted it. I had little regard for any human life. So I more or less occupied the Opera Populaire and forced everyone to fulfill my demands."

"You even killed," one of the judges reminded him.

"Yes, I did. At that time I didn't even think about it, as I told you, I had little regard for human life. Today I am horrified at my own deeds, I can't believe it was me who did this. The only reason why I want to live now is that I want to atone for my crimes, even if I know that I can't ever undo the damage I caused."

"That is confirmed by the reports from the magistrate and the doctor, even the police reports confirm that," one judge told his colleagues, "He provides for the Buquet children now, gave back as much as he could to the opera."

"Do you realize that what you have done is not enough? Even if you are not punished, you are obliged by civil law to compensate for the damage?" one of the judges, an old man, asked.

Erik nodded. "I know. There will be no need to sue me - I won't argue against any compensation anyone will ask of me. It is just that I can't pay that. I have a job and give what I can, but I doubt I will be able to earn that much in the rest of my life."

The judges started skimming through their papers. Finally they discussed that Erik had taken a job first as garbage cart driver then as clockmaker, both times with a businessman as Gontier as his employer. Erik didn't understand the legal terms, but the faces of the judges told him that they liked what they saw.

"The doctor declared you cured," one of the judges stated, "Do you feel different now?"

Erik nodded. "Yes. That time I was very self-centered and had no empathy at all, I was reckless. Now I do consider the consequences of my deeds and how they would affect others. At that time I would just take whatever I wanted, now I know that either I can get it in a legal way or I have to go without."

The judges discussed his statement again. Erik wondered what this was about. Why did he have to say it if they knew he was cured? It was all in the papers. He had little understanding for the formal procedures.

"A rather personal question - you don't have to answer if you do not like to," the youngest of the judges asked, "What do you think helped you recover from your madness?"

Erik shrugged. "I honestly do not know."

"From the reports we know that it was a combination of the therapy sessions and confrontations with your victims and being allowed to care for others and take responsibility for their well-being. Do you know there are other patients too in this experiment? Some make great progress, others don't. I just want to find out why you, who was the worst criminal possible, could be cured while others can't?"

Erik shrugged helplessly and looked to Dr. Benevole, who answered the question: "We are still trying to analyse this. Monsieur Morriere has a great talent for teaching and he loves to protect others he deems worthy of his protection. He wasn't completely without empathy and so we could build on his natural talents and channel his enormous energy and creativity into something useful instead of committing crimes. Those patients who show absolutely no progress at all or just fake some progress where none is suffer from a different kind of criminal insanity. I guess we will need many studies until we find out which kind of criminal insanity can be cured and which can't. I guess we were just lucky that he suffered the curable form of madness."

"And you are sure he is not dangerous?" one of the elder judges addressed the doctor.

Dr. Benevole smiled as he answered: "Absolutely. He has been attacked and didn't even defend himself. I am sure he is as harmless as anyone else here in this room."

Erik blushed with shame as he thought about his lasso and the metal walking cane, he did not consider himself harmless. Not that he planned to kill anyone, but one never knew when he would have to fight to protect himself and those he loved.

"There have been relapses?"

Erik's head jerked up and he stared at the doctor who just gestured for him to answer. "Yes," he admitted uncomfortably, "I am just a man after all."

"Any plans for your future?"

"Why do you need to know this?" Erik wondered.

"Please answer the question."

"Not really. I will continue to work as watchmaker, and o... yes, if it would be possible I'd love to try and create prostheses for men who lost limbs. I have no one to finance this for most injured men don't have much money, but if I find a rich patron to support this charity work, I'd start immediately," Erik answered, thinking of the idea the hospital had given him.

The judges and Clemenceau started to discuss that this was a really good sign that he was not only cured but willing to become a valuable member of society, ready to help others. Erik noticed that Clemenceau acted rather like a counsel for the defence than a magistrate, telling them that in his opinion Erik was no more dangerous than any other man of the working class. Of course no one could guarantee that there wouldn't be a relapse, but then every normal man could become mentally ill and criminal.

"You have been a victim yourself, Monsieur, tell us what you think about the assailant?"

"I still wonder who he is and why he said 'payday' when he stabbed me," Erik answered, not knowing why this was of any relevance, "But I'd like to ask him. It is entirely possible that he had very good reasons to hate me, only I can't remember how he looked like. I have no idea who he was."

"No hatred? No wish for revenge?"

"No," Erik answered, surprised to find that it was the truth, "I just wonder why he did this."

"Amazing," one of the judges said and reached for a paper before signing it, "I would have made any bet that there was no cure for criminal insanity, yet the man who sits before us is perfectly normal and answers openly and honestly. I can't find any traces of criminal insanity. Do you agree?"

The others nodded and Erik could see that Dr. Benevole and Clemenceau congratulated each other.

"If you can stand up, do so," the presiding judge ordered. Erik got up obediently, leaning on his cane. He did not need it to support himself, he just felt it might help his cause now. "Erik Morriere, this court finds you **not** guilty of the crimes because you were not responsible for your deeds as you were declared insane, yet we do not think you have to be send to an asylum for your insanity is cured. Do you understand this?"

"Yes." He felt lightheaded. After so many years he was finally free. He was a free man to start a new life.

* * *

When they left the courtroom, Clemenceau approached Erik. "I want to be the first one to congratulate you," he said, "But don't even think about doing anything stupid - you're still on my blacklist and Claude Meunier and his men will always keep an eye on you."

Erik allowed himself a sly grin as he answered: "As if that had ever had any effect at all. Thank you, Monsieur."

"I hope you might be willing to answer some questions if I need this for my experiment in the future?" Dr. Benevole asked, "And of course I'll have some chocolate for your friends."

Gontier took Erik's arm. "Come on, let's drink a toast to you and discuss this new business idea of yours. Do you really think you could make better prostheses? I guess we could enlarge our little shop and maybe hire a second apprentice... We just need some rich patrons to found a charity organisation which would pay for the prostheses if the cripples can't..."

Clemenceau grinned as he turned to Dr. Benevole. "It seems he became an honest business man - and found a mentor who teaches him how to run a business. I wonder if he can really channel his energy and creativity into something useful and socially acceptable. But this new scheme sounds like a good idea to me."

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _Erik is a free man now with a clean record - he can build up a new life. If he can control his darker side._

 _Next chapter will be up Wednesday, I hope. Please review!_

 _You want to know what a watchmaker's workplace looked like in the 19th century?_ _: / / erik1881 . deviantart art / Research-in-the-Museum7-619469405_

 _an ingenious creation:_ _: / / erik1881 . deviantart art / Research-in-the-Museum8-619469664_


	72. Defining Love

**Education of the Heart**

 **Defining Love**

Erik was a bit drunk when he came home. Gontier and he had discussed this idea about making prostheses and getting some charity foundation to pay for it over a few drinks and now he just wanted to lie down and sleep it off.

He was surprised to find David sitting in the shop. As much as he had cared about the young man in the hospital, as soon he had forgotten about him. David wore a scarf to cover his ruined face and it was drenched with saliva. Of course, David's cheek was an open wound and part of his left lower jawbone was missing. No wonder he was constantly drooling.

"I'm sorry, I told him to go, but he..." Madame Buquet started but was silent the moment Erik glared at her.

"Hello David," Erik greeted, "It took you some time to come here. How are you?"

"My brother threw me out," David answered, "I didn't know where to go."

Erik frowned. Poor David - first his girl Jacqueline, then his brother and most likely all of his friends had left him because of his accident. "You can sleep here, if you don't mind sleeping on the floor," Erik offered, knowing perfectly well what this man needed now.

"Thank you. Can you make me a mask? Like yours? So I wouldn't drool and wouldn't retch in disgust whenever I pass a mirror?"

* * *

Erik was surprised that his three friends didn't react all too well to David. Usually they accepted everyone with open arms but they kept their distance and Erik himself was cautious as well. He knew the state of mind David was in and knew perfectly well that this wouldn't be easy for he could not keep David, he would have to ask him to leave eventually. But not without a proper mask, which would be finished in two days.

Creating the mask for David was far more difficult than his own masks for David would have to be able to put it on with only one hand and it needed to be waterproof on the inside to stop the drooling and protect David from constantly having dust in his mouth. Finally they came up with a mixture of wax and wool to more or less glue the leather mask to the face so the leather patch was a substitute for the real cheek. Everyone saw that it was a clever mask, held in place by wire and some sort of glue, but it improved David's looks, especially when they agreed to cover the blind eye too. This blind eye had frightened people as much as the actual wound had.

"There you go," Erik said trying to sound cheerful, "Much better, isn't it?"

David couldn't be happy. The mask improved his looks, yes, but he looked like a freak. Like a stupid disgusting circus freak. Of course he wouldn't tell that to Erik, who had done nothing but trying to help. He just grunted.

"A bit uncomfortable at first, but you'll get used to it. In a few months you won't even feel it anymore," Erik assured him, "That's why I chose leather. It is soft and adaptive to your features, as is the wax-and-wool stuff."

"I feel like an idiot!"

"David, we have a few rules here - there are words we do not use, understood? One of them is idiot. Another one is freak. Do I make myself clear?" Erik snapped, annoyed by Davids behavior. Not that he had been any better in his youth. David nodded like a schoolboy. "And now we'll find a job for you!" Erik said in a way that told David he'd better not object, "I won't have you wasting your life."

"I wish I had your strength and optimism," David sighed, "You don't even consider going to the almshouse, I see no other choice."

"We are going to find a job for you now and if I have to kick your butt every step of the way!" Erik was angry, even more so because he recognized his own character flaws in David now. Whatever he disliked about himself he saw like a mirror image in this young man - or maybe he just thought he would see it - and he wondered why he didn't just throw him out as he had been thrown out too often. He didn't even want to analyze his own behavior, he just grabbed David at the collar and pushed him out of the door. David was much stronger than Erik, but Erik's sudden fury was enough to frighten David so he didn't even try to resist.

* * *

Finding a job was nothing Erik had any relevant experience in. It was David who knew where he could ask for a job once they had agreed that nightguard would be the best job he could get. But it took weeks - and Erik's constant ordering the young man around - until David finally got an offer to work as a nightguard in the Hippodrome de Longchamp. He was to make sure that the valuable and most sensitive horses would be able to sleep undisturbed at night. Of course there would be other men to care for the horses, he was just to stay there and make sure no one would disturb the horses. He would more or less live there, being allowed to sleep in the hayloft and use the faucet behind the stable and toilets for the staff.

"Accept it or I'll wring your ungrateful neck!" Erik ordered and David - who was about to reject that offer for he felt this job was beneath him, especially because he would earn only two-third of what his colleagues would earn, and David accepted. He was not happy, but Erik was. "You need an income to cover the basic needs - you have a place to sleep and enough to eat. From there you can start a new life. And if you don't do this, I'll come for you and beat you to pulp!"

That was certainly not what the doctor had done for him, but Erik was no doctor and he thought that what David needed was hope for a better future - and if he had to force him.

* * *

Erik's own life was more or less the same, only that now he was not obliged to see Dr. Benevole regularly, much to the dismay of his three friends who missed the chocolate so much.

He did see Christine, she came for her singing lessons and at first Erik was reluctant to tell her how disappointed he was that she hadn't come to visit him and she hadn't been there when he came home and she had not been there when he had finally been declared cured. He had so much hoped to have his first drink as a free man with her, but she was not there and when he tried to contact her she had always told her maid to tell him she was not at home. Of course she had been at home, he knew this, but he had not wanted to push the maid aside and enter her flat uninvited.

Somehow he was proud of himself for not losing his temper, but he was deeply hurt that she refused to see him. What good was it to behave like a gentleman, if she was not there to appreciate it? He almost laughed at his childish thoughts when he had calmed down enough to think clearly again.

So when Christine came for her singing lesson, he was in foul mood, but he hadn't turned her down or canceled the lesson. They were again at the female doctor's salon, and for once Erik was grateful for having a chaperone, for he didn't really trust himself not to do something absolutely stupid and embarrass himself.

Christine was unable to sing when Erik was in such a mood. "What is it?" she asked worriedly. Was he still in pain? She had been told that he recovered from his injury.

"Nothing! Do your warm-up!" Erik snapped.

"That is not true! Something is bothering you," she replied, "Tell me, Erik, please."

"Where were you?" Erik blurted out furiously, "When I was injured, where were you? When I was coming home, even Madame Giry was there to greet me - where were you? Where were you when I left the court as a free man? **You were not there!"**

Christine was silent for a moment and stared at Erik, who was breathing heavily and struggling to control himself. The female doctor got up and shuffled around in the room, re-arranging the flowers and watering them.

"Erik, I'm sorry. I thought we agreed that I am not part of your family and you are not part of my family. We can be friends, nothing more. I wanted to come, but... I asked Raoul and I asked Dr. Benevole, I even asked Madame Giry and all agreed that it would be better for both of us if I would not give you false hope," Christine answered, "Meg kept me informed about everything for I was nearly dying of shock when I learned that you had been stabbed."

"So now you are out of my reach watching over me from high above?" Erik snapped angrily, "How fitting for a **Vicomtesse**!"

"Do you want to teach her singing or do you want to have a quarrel?" the female doctor interrupted them. Both looked at her. "Erik, this is no way to treat a lady," the old doctor rebuked him, "I think you need some fresh air to cool your temper."

Erik snarled at her but got up and left the flat, slamming the door shut behind him. He felt like tearing something apart and smashing things, but he knew he couldn't for he couldn't buy new ones. All he could do was going to the backyard and chop some firewood to release his anger.

Christine was crying as she turned to the doctor. "I didn't mean to hurt him," she wept, "But I love Raoul, I want to spend every of my days with Raoul - why can't Erik just accept that?"

The old woman sighed and sat down at the piano. "You can't have both of them, my dear, so you have to say good-by to one. You decided to marry the young Vicomte, which was a good decision, if you want my opinion." She started to play a tune on the piano. "You did the right thing not giving Erik false hope - in time, he will accept that and go on with his life."

"I wish him only the best," Christine said.

The old doctor smiled. "Of course you do. You are lucky to have a suitor like the Vicomte - you kept him waiting for years and he never yielded, never gave up, always was there for you. He even accepted that you needed these voice lessons with his rival, which man would do that? Your Vicomte will be a very patient and gentle husband."

"I know, and that is why I love Raoul so much," Christine replied sadly, "But I will miss Erik. I am so very proud of how he was able to reform himself and feel absolutely horrible for breaking his heart."

"As I said, one can't have both. Not deciding would be far more cruel, for both of them. Now, let's have some tea until our masked friend cooled his temper and comes back!"

She was right. It took some time until Erik returned, ashamed of his childish behavior. "Your warm-up, Christine. And then we try the duet," he said, not even looking at her but keeping it entirely professional like any other music teacher might have done.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _to be continued..._


	73. Defining Love (cont)

**Education of the Heart**

 **Defining Love (cont.)**

Christine soon noticed that Erik was listless and grumpy during their lessons. He tried to be a teacher to her, he did his best to encourage her, but he could not pretend he was not upset. He knew what he was doing now was for nothing for she would become the primadonna assoluta only to leave the stage the very next summer - and it was already spring!

When the old doctor and his three friends accompanied Christine to the door after what was to be the very last lesson, Erik stayed behind, sitting at the grand piano, emotionally drained and unable to do anything. He couldn't even get up and wish her good luck for the premiere. He just couldn't, even when he berated himself that this might be the last time he ever saw her. He was unable to say anything.

The old doctor came back sooner than Erik had expected, she found him hunched over, his face buried in his arms, crying. Gently the old woman laid her hand on his shoulder. "Poor boy," she said. Nothing more. She gently squeezed his shoulder like she would have done for a child.

"I love her," Erik sobbed, suddenly not caring that she witnessed his breakdown. She was a psychiatrist, surely she would not care. The old woman just let him cry until he calmed down enough to be in control of himself again.

She handed him a handkerchief. "Blow your nose and adjust your mask, there's a good boy." She treated him like a small child and he didn't object, he felt as if he had torn himself apart and didn't know how to survive.

"I'm sorry, Madame," he mumbled ashamed of himself.

"Don't be. Even the toughest man has weak moments. You aren't made of stone, you know."

"I wish I was!"

"Tea?"

* * *

As they sat at the table having some tea the doctor informed Erik that she had told his friends to wait for him in their flat - she always called the workshop 'flat' because they lived there - and he nodded. "You said you love her - tell me what you call love?" she asked.

"Is that a question from a psychiatrist?" Erik snapped irritated.

"Would you rather answer your psychiatrist or your grandmother?" she replied with a friendly smile.

Erik sighed. She had something in her that made everyone want to tell her everything, even his deepest secrets. Erik still considered that scary, but right now he was not willing to fight that urge to speak to her.

"I love her. Not like in the beginning, when I was obsessed with her, couldn't think of anything but her, couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, felt like I was dying every moment I couldn't be with her. Now I still love her, I still want to be with her every second of my life, want to protect her and... I want to marry her. She would be the perfect wife for me."

"If you were on a sinking ship and there was only one place in the lifeboat - what would you do?"

"What kind of question is that?" Er blurted out, not understanding why she asked such stupid things, "Of course I'd give my life to save her."

"Do you want her to be happy?" she asked.

"Of course!" Erik answered truthfully.

"Did you ever ask yourself if you are able to make her happy?" she asked, "I watched you together. Is she really absolutely contend to be with you, no matter the circumstances?"

A painful question. Very painful, for he already knew the answer. "No," he whispered, fighting back tears, "Sometimes she is happy, smiles and laughs, but she's always on edge when she's with me as if she was afraid of me - as if I was a vicious dog and she's afraid I'd bite her any moment." He looked at her, in her greyish eyes and her round, wrinkled face, as he stated: "I know that I would never be the perfect husband for her. I know that I have a bad temper, a bad reputation and will be haunted by my past forever. That is why I finally accepted that she's going to marry another man. This was... to be true, it was my last attempt that she somehow might change her mind. My voice - she always reacted to my voice as if she couldn't live without. I hoped... I know I've been fooling myself again." He smiled weakly, "I'm really good in fooling myself, am I not? Why can't my heart just accept what my head already knows?"

The old woman smiled sympathetically. "You are a better man than you give yourself credit," she said gently, taking his hand, "Sometimes you can only accept what you can't change. Stop fighting and let her go."

"I did!"

"No. Let her go!"

"That is what I have just done!" he protested.

"No. Accept it with your heart, not with your head."

As the old woman gently laid her arms around his shoulders - when he was sitting at the piano bench and she was standing they were about the same height - he buried his face in her soft shoulder and wept.

* * *

It was late when Erik returned to his friends who were patiently waiting for him.

"Made dinner!" Dede announced proudly and Erik stared at the dish they had cooked. It looked like they had thrown vegetables, eggs and cheese in a pan and fried it all together. Erik sighed, wondering if there was any possibility to clean the pan or if he would have to buy a new one, but the three of them were so happy that they had been able to prepare dinner for them that he didn't have the heart to scold them. They had improved so much since he had first met them. At first he had thought them to have the intellectual level of toddlers, but by now he thought them to have the level of six to eleven or twelve year old boys.

"Thank you," Erik answered.

"Want to make you happy," Rene explained.

* * *

The next day Erik sat in his workshop, but he could not bring himself to work. He watched Maurice as the boy put together a pocket watch with his skilled hands. Maurice would one day become a good watchmaker, Erik was sure of that, but right now he couldn't enjoy anything.

"Monsieur?" it was Madame Buquet, announcing that there was someone who wanted to speak to Erik. Erik got up with a sigh and went to the shop.

It was not hard to recognize David, who was standing there with some other men Erik had never seen before.

"Hello David," Erik greeted him, "How are you?"

"Fine, thanks to you!" David answered happily, "Come with us, we are celebrating."

"Celebrating?"

"Yes, my ex-fiancee is going to marry the innkeeper and so we have free drinks as much as we like," David answered cheerfully, "Come with us and celebrate."

"Just a moment. She marries someone else and you are... happy? Aren't you jealous?" Erik didn't understand anything.

David laughed. "On the contrary! If she does not value my happiness more than her own she will never become a good wife. And I found myself another girl, her name is Mildred and she is the innkeeper's ex-fiancee."

Erik stood there, not really understanding what this was about.

David grew a bit more quiet. "Why so silent?" he asked "Aren't you happy for me?"

"Of course! This is wonderful news, it is just... I'm sorry, David, but right now I do not feel like celebrating," Erik replied. He would prefer to be left alone right now.

"You are coming with us!" David decided, "These are my brothers Luc, Robert and Marcus and my brother-in-law Sébastien. This is Erik, the man who saved my life."

"I'm not..." It was hard to refuse their invitation when they were all much younger and stronger than Erik, all of them obviously working in jobs that required much strength. They just grabbed him and pulled him with them. "Hey! Alright, I'm coming! But let me get my hat and my cloak first, okay?"

It did not take long and David noticed that Erik was not even able to pretend to be happy. Not even when they reached the inn where they would celebrate the girlfriend-swap with the innkeeper and started drinking, Erik felt horribly out of place there. It was a cheap rundown inn where mostly men who just wanted to drink themselves into oblivion were. Respectable men wouldn't enter that drinking hole.

"You are already fife glasses behind," David laughed, "See how well the mask works? I can drink without losing one drop of that heavenly wine."

Erik smirked. What they called wine was something he would rather consider with some salad, what they called liquor was something that tasted more like gunpowder in oil. Nothing he would ever be able to stomach, no matter how much he would like to get drunk now. But he was relieved to find out that he was not desperate enough to drink that stuff. At least he could be sure he wasn't in danger of any addiction right now. He looked around. They were being stared at, but they weren't asked to leave and they were not attacked. David seemed to be accepted by his brothers and his old friends, which was good. Of course they wouldn't take him in and care for him - but they did celebrate with him.

"I'm not used to drinking," Erik answered, coughing. Too many men were smoking here, the air was thick with smoke.

"To Jacqueline - let's get so drunk she's busy all night cleaning up our mess!" David laughed. He enjoyed this.

"I cannot understand how easily you get over that lost love," Erik asked, "I thought you loved her?"

David laughed. "I did. And I'm glad she left me before we got married. If she is not willing to sacrifice herself for her husband's needs she does not deserve to have one."

Erik wondered if David hadn't misunderstood the whole affair completely, but this attitude seemed to work for David. If he was happy now, he would not berate him. Erik wondered if it had been easier if he could have just shrugged it off like that, thinking she wasn't worth his spit. But he could not do this, he simply could not look down on Christine.

"What is it now, Erik?" David asked, his speech already slurred, "You look as miserable as sin!" They roared with laughter at the rather rude joke. Erik felt highly uncomfortable and it got worse the more intoxicated the other men became. He did not fit in with them, even if he liked David.

"I'm sorry, David. I have to go," Erik said and left the inn, taking a few deep breaths of fresh air.

"What is it?" David had followed him, "Where is the always optimistic Erik I met in the hospital?"

Erik shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm the wrong one to give you any advise - right now I can't heed my own advise to you. Sorry."

"Lovesick? Have some more wine, find yourself a whore and you'll feel much better!"

Erik shook his head. "No. Thank you, David, but I have to decline. Good luck to you and your... whatever her name was."

Erik decided to go home. This was some social group he did not even want to fit in - drinking and smoking seemed to be the only way to celebrate for them. Erik found he did not like that and he didn't even want to fit in. Maybe life was easier for them for they did not think that much. Again he wondered what love was. What could love be, when one, like him, suffered for years while another one, like David, just found another girl within weeks. Erik couldn't help wondering how any girl could tolerate David's looks and suddenly envied him. Why could David find another girl easily while he, Erik, could not? He was sure that David's new girlfriend would have some flaws herself or she wouldn't take David, but whatever it was, they seemed to be contend to have someone while Erik couldn't imagine to live together with just any woman and call that "love".

He slipped into the workshop silently and found his friends asleep. Jules had climbed into Dede's bed, obviously because of some nightmare, and Dede held him close like a father would a child. Erik smiled as he saw that. They loved each other and helped each other without asking anything in return. They would gladly give the shirt off their backs for each other - and for him.

Erik climbed into his bed and smiled to himself. To some people life was easier, but right now he found he was privileged to have experienced the love he felt for Christine, it was something special, something pure, something most men surely would never feel, if they were able to find comfort in another woman's arms that easily. He did not want another one. With that thought, he fell asleep.

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 _Thank you for reading! Have a nice weekend! Next chapter will be up next week._


	74. Say Goodby

**Education of the Heart**

 **Say Goodby**

Erik felt much better after a few days. He had accepted that he could not force Christine to love him and that other people - like David - had more luck in their lives. He had been curious about this woman who would have David and found that she had just served a prison sentence for prostitution. No wonder she wouldn't find a decent husband, but she seemed to be happy with David and he with her - some people had much lower expectations and were easier satisfied with what they could have in life. He envied them. David was one of those men who was contend to have a place to sleep, a woman who did the housework for him and cared for some other needs, and he would drink himself into oblivion once a week. Erik could not even imagine living like that - to him that was a nightmare, a life with a "beloved" who was exchangeable, the only highlight was a binge. But some people seemed to know nothing else and seemed to be happy with that. Maybe stupidity was a blessing in itself.

But Erik was glad that he was not like that. Yes, he did look down on them, and it gave him a new hope that his life would not be wasted - he could so something better. He would put all of those people who looked down on him for his defacement and mask to shame by creating a new image of himself. He would work together with Gontier - the little man was a good businessman and his idea of creating a charity foundation that would pay for masks and prostheses for those whom they deemed worthy of receiving such expensive gifts was something Erik liked. Of course he would be the one to build the prostheses and since they would work together he could charge them whatever he wanted for his unique services. It felt a bit like swindling the rich of a tiny bit of their money, but it was entirely legal and no one would complain for everyone who donated generously to that foundation would buy a good feeling and the good reputation of being a philantrope and selflessly caring for poor working class people who had lost parts of their body in accidents and needed some help to become valuable workers again and would not end up as beggars or in the almshouse.

And this time Erik saw great benefit for himself, not officially and certainly not only in money. Officially Gontier would be the businessman and he only the employee - but his idea was to present himself as philantropic genius to create machines to help people who lacked one or more limbs. And the roughly calculated profit for himself would be enough to be no longer forced to live in the workshop but to pay for a decent flat. He had something in mind - they could rent the attic of the block of flats and he could build in a flat in the attic, it would be a really large flat. Then the workshop would be just a workshop and he would have a room just for himself and some privacy.

Erik did not attend to the premiere of "Les pêcheurs de perles" with Christine as Leila. He was very hurt and did not even want to hear her, he wanted to pretend that he did no longer care about her - which didn't keep him from collecting each and every newspaper article about the performance he could get. He was busy working with Gontier, in fact they had to neglect the shop for some time, leaving it to Maurice to do what he could so they could establish the foundation. The foundation needed wealthy patrons with respectable names - which neither Erik nor Gontier could provide.

So Erik came up with the idea of asking Dr. Benevole's help. A doctor from a noble family - he was a Baron, if an impoverished one - was the perfect man to speak to future donors for their little enterprise. Of course as a nobleman and doctor he could easily promote the charity foundation and introduce the successful businessman who wanted to do something good - Gontier liked the idea that he was now not only the owner of a garbage collecting enterprise but of another, more respectable, business as well - to the rich people who liked to buy themselves a good reputation or just needed some hobby for their bored wives. To Erik this solution was perfect - he was the eccentric creative genius who could easily stay in the background and just do his work, a role he rather liked.

* * *

Erik had been so busy the time seemed to rush and even if it felt like mere hours until he had last seen Christine, summer was there - and her final performance before she would leave the opera to get married. La Carlotta had been reasonable enough to go on a lengthy tour through France and would only return in September - a perfect timing, for until then there would be a few month without any noteworthy soprano at the opera and everyone would just beg her to return.

Erik sat in his new flat - it was not finished by then, but he had gone to live there, enjoying the privacy of having two large rooms for himself since Dede, Rene and Jules insisted they did not want single-rooms, they wanted to share one room. The bathroom, indoor toilet and kitchen was ready, only the flat lacked a proper floor, painting at the walls - which were mainly just wooden boards and plaster, but that was easier to build than actual brick walls. Looking around he found he liked this new flat with its high ceiling directly beneath the roof, so the rooms were rather high and with angular walls from the roof in some rooms. It was unique and he liked it. He liked that he could leave the flat through the skylights and climb on the roof - and if he wanted to from one roof to another. He even had his own staircase. The attic could not be reached via the normal staircase that lead to the flats but had its own entrance in the backyard, which was perfect for Erik. The only thing he wasn't sure about was the fact that he would have to carry furniture, coals and firewood and all groceries to the attic which was now more or less the fifth floor. Perfection does not exist.

"Auntie wants to see you," Dede said.

Erik got up from the floor where he had been sitting and sighed. His three friends had come to call the female doctor "auntie", he had no idea why and since when she had allowed this, but he did owe her his life and knew he could not reject anything she asked. He suspected she just wanted him to create some music boxes she wanted as gifts for her grandchildren.

She greeted him with a friendly smile and asked him if he would like to accompany an old lady to the theater. Erik thought she just felt not save as an old woman alone in the streets at night so he agreed immediately. Of course he would take her there and come to take her home after the performance.

"No, my dear boy," she answered, her eyes sparkling with delight, "I want you to be a gentleman and accompany me. I have two tickets."

Erik sighed. She was inviting him to the theater and he had no intention to go there, no matter who the actors were or what play she was talking about. "Thank you, but no. You know enough about me to understand why I can't go to any theater again." He hoped she wouldn't press him, but suspected her not to accept no as an answer.

"You would really let an helpless old lady like me take the risk going to the opera alone?" she asked and Erik rolled his eyes. She was playing the helpless-old-lady card again. Just great. He could not very well decline now, could he?

"Opera?" he asked, finally understanding what this was about.

"Yes, I have tickets for the last staging of "Faust" before she retires from the stage," the doctor said, "Christine send them and asked me to make sure you would attend for she wants to sing for you one last time."

"No! Never! Certainly not!"

"Why not? It is a gift from her, don't you want to accept it?"

"No!" Erik was screaming now, "She decided against me. Fine. Now she has a guilty conscience and wants to soothe it with alms. No! I won't go there and kiss her feet and thank her for this token of respect - certainly not! She decided against me - and I won't do anything to ease her conscience, I hope she's killing herself with guilt!"

The old lady didn't even flinch. She just stood there, both hands resting on her walking cane, and smiled at Erik. "Done with sulking? Good. Now - how are we going to smuggle you in without causing mass panic?"

"I did not agree!" Erik snapped, a bit calmer but still annoyed.

"You wouldn't deny yourself of the supreme performance of the century, would you?" the old lady asked, "If you do that you punish no one but yourself and you will regret it for the rest of your life."

His shoulders slumped in defeat. She was right - if he would not go, he would miss her last performance and he would regret that later when his temper would have cooled down again. He could always lie to her and tell her he had not been there, but it would be easier if he were.

"I'm going to watch the performance from the flies. I know some ways to sneak in undetected. I would leave you at the Place de'l Opera and meet you after the performance in the Rue Scribe, if you agree," Erik reluctantly agreed.

The old woman agreed immediately. "You just have to call a cab. In my age I would otherwise need to leave here six hours before the curtain raises."

"Six hours?"

"Do you know how many cafes are between here and the opera?"

Erik laughed in spite of himself. How did this old lady manage to make him laugh when he was that angry?

* * *

When he was sitting in his narrow hiding place in the flies, watching the performance from high above, he wondered what the old doctor intended taking the tremendous risk of bringing him back to the opera. It was a high risk he could suffer a relapse and resume his role as the Opera Ghost - but right now he felt he did not want that. Yes, he had missed the music, painfully so, and yes, he missed the fun he had had when he had been bullying everyone around. Bullying - what an understatement! Dr. Benevole would scold him that he must not belittle his crimes like they were just pranks any schoolboy would commit. These were serious crimes and he should never call them anything else. It was funny how the lectures from his therapy kicked in every so often. Maybe this was necessary - like it was necessary for him to remember never to try any drugs for he was prone to addiction.

He shook his head with a sad smile. He couldn't go back to being the cruel Opera Ghost and the thought that he had been up here, dragging the dead body of the stagehand to the flies at the center of the stage and dropping it like a gruesome prop made him sick. If there was any way he could undo that, he would do so. He could not see the chandelier but he knew the new chandelier to be an exact copy of the first one. He wondered briefly how many families and lives he had destroyed with the chandelier crash. Seven dead people - seven families mourning their beloved. He could only hope they were rich patrons of the opera and the families would survive the loss, but the thought of leaving children as orphans, widowers and widows, was painful.

The opera was finally free, they were rid of the Opera Ghost - only Erik would never be. He was the only one now to be haunted by the Opera Ghost, he thought miserably. Or maybe he was just wallowing in self-pity again, which was no good sign for he usually did something stupid then. He decided not to let his mind wander these dangerous dark area and concentrated on the performance.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _to be continued_

 _Next chapter will be up on Wednesday! Please review!_


	75. Say Goodby (cont)

**Education of the Heart**

 **Say Goodby (cont.)**

Christine was perfect. Even to Erik's ears there was not one flaw in her performance that day. Even he could not withstand the power of her voice, he was in tears as she bowed to the final applause as the audience called for her again and again.

Since it was Christine's last performance the managers presented her with a large bunch of flowers and speeches were made. The managers were full of praise and of course asked her not to forget the opera and that they hoped to welcome her as patroness soon. Erik couldn't listen to all the speeches, he could only stare at her form, still dressed in the plain white silk dress from the final act of Faust, accepting so many flowers and so much praise she was not able to say anything.

So many flowers and speeches - as if this was a funeral, Erik thought bitterly.

Finally Christine came to say something. She told everyone she would miss them, especially her best friends, that she would visit as often as possible and wished everyone the best. Erik stayed hidden, knowing about the danger for everyone in that room had very good reason to hate him. But he knew that Christine had not really expected him to make his presence known in any way. She thought him well-hidden in one of the boxes, not knowing that he was in the flies where he had many escape routes should something go wrong, even without any secret passageways, which by now would all be sealed, or most of them. But from the flies he could escape to the attic and some forgotten places there.

Maybe she expected him to come to her dressing room, but he did not, would not. It was like closing a book - he had read it and even if it had been a good book he was sure he would never want to open it again.

Meeting the old lady was not hard - everyone was at the main entrance, waiting for a carriage or fighting to get one of the cabs. In the Rue Scribe were some people, but no one really noticed Erik who was standing in the shadows, his beige mask barely visible in the darkness of the night as he stayed in the shadows beneath a gas lamp the lamp lighter must have forgotten or maybe it was broken - or maybe some friendly ghost had just turned it off. Erik smiled to himself, he wouldn't give up all of his habits, and this little prank was saving his life and harming no one.

The old lady would have passed him without even noticing he was there, had he not just moved out of the shadows and offered his arm. It was funny to walk beside her who was so much smaller than him and walking with tiny steps. If he put one foot before the other almost stepping on his own toes he assumed he was walking faster than she could. They waited for a cab a few streets away from the opera where the risk for Erik to be recognized was a bit less because no one would expect a man in a mask there - and the beige leather mask was almost invisible in the darkness of the night and the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat. He just looked like any other if one didn't know what to look for to see the mask.

"You were right," he said as they were finally sitting in the cab and he allowed himself to relax for he felt he was in no danger for now, "This is a memory I will cherish for the rest of my life. You know that I was risking my life - if I had been spotted, I would be dead now."

"You are always assuming the worst of people, aren't you? After all that time I'm not sure if they wouldn't have applauded you," the lady replied cheerfully, "Since the spectacular show you created there are some people who call you a tragic hero and think the whole affair really romantic."

"There is nothing romantic about kidnapping and blackmail," Erik sighed, "It is only romantic as long as you are the one reading the newspapers and not the one to be in real danger."

"You are repeating that like a good schoolboy, but do you actually believe it?"

"Yes. I wish I could change the past, maybe Christine and I would be married by now. But these thoughts are useless, aren't they? I can't change the past, I can't change her, all I can do is change my own future."

"Stop reciting lectures from your therapy and tell me what you really think," the old lady rebuked with a highly amused tone, "This is not like maths, two plus two is four, if you believe in it or not, but this is different!"

Erik chuckled. "Tell that to my tax adviser - two and two can be everything between zero and nine in the books." He soon became serious again. "I am not angry with her. Thank you for persuading me to attend tonight - thank you for going out with me tonight. It was... the fist real rendezvous in my life, and a wonderful lady invited me!"

They laughed together.

* * *

Erik had not much trouble finding out about the marriage of Christine and Raoul. He just took his friends to see Madame Giry and Meg. Madame Giry looked a bit pale and angry, Meg was nowhere to be seen.

"Good morning, Madame. Please excuse my uninvited..."

Erik couldn't finish his sentence for Jules pushed his way past Madame Giry and shouted in happy excitement: "Girl dancer! Where?"

"Jules! What did I tell you about proper behavior as guest?" Erik scolded him, but he couldn't help grinning.

"Meg is still sleeping," Madame Giry said angrily, "She came home only at seven in the morning. Can you believe that? Seven o'clock in the morning! She was up all night celebrating with God knows whom! Can you imagine how worried I was?"

Erik stared at her. Since when was he a man someone would share her problems with? "Errr... may we come in?" he asked awkwardly.

"Girl dancer! Where?!" Jules demanded.

"She's in her room," Madame Giry explained, then with a wicked grin pointed to the door: "You may wake her."

"Madame... is that a good idea?" Erik asked as his three friends burst into Meg's room and rushed to open the curtains.

"Sunshine!" Dede exclaimed happily while Jules hugged and kissed Meg who was fully dressed lying on her bed, she still wore her shoes. She was utterly confused and tried to clear her head as the three men tried to get her up and offering their help going for a walk in the sunshine for the sunshine would help her. They could not know that sunshine and a walk was the last thing Meg wanted just now.

Madame Giry grinned mischiefiously. "Those who can celebrate all night long can as well go for a walk in the morning!" she stated, "Or would you prefer to go to the opera and **practice**?" Meg groaned. She felt ill and knew she wouldn't survive private ballet training with her mother right now so she reluctantly decided to accept going for a walk.

"Don't you want to offer your arm like a gentleman?" Madame Giry asked and Erik gave her a small bow, offering his arm. In his other hand he had his special walking cane, the one that was made of steel, just to be sure if he needed to defend himself. Of course his lasso was well hidden in his vest.

Walking the streets with Madame Giry at his arm was a new experience for Erik. Of course everyone stared at them, his mask was clearly visible in daylight and no one could mistake it for something else. Stares and cruel remarks and gossip, the usual. No knifes and no pushing him away so far, so this might be a good day. Some men spit out at the sidewalk when Erik passed them, but he ignored it. No fight in the streets at daylight.

Madame Giry was busy looking for her daughter, who was more or less pushed along by Jules and Rene, Dede proudly carrying her bag. She looked nearly green in her face. "You won't get any sympathy from me," Madame Giry informed her daughter, "Such indecent behavior, staying the night God knows where and with whom!"

"Mama, I was celebrating with Christine! It was just Christine, some of the chorus girls and some of the ballet girls! I admit it was a bit much Champagne, but nothing bad happened," Meg protested.

"I hope for your sake that Christine confirms that story!" Madame Giry snapped annoyed, then turned to Erik: "You can be really grateful that you do not have a daughter!"

"Speaking of Christine... are you invited to the wedding?" Erik asked.

"Yes, Meg and I. She asked me if she should invite you too, but... no offence, but I told her that would not be a good idea," Madame Giry answered.

"None taken. Is it a large ceremony?"

"No. Only the family and the closest friends, but since Raoul seems to be related to many noble families even a small wedding will be with about one hundred guests and of course Christine's friends and colleagues from the opera..."

"I see," Erik sighed, "Right, in that case I would be terribly out of place, wouldn't I? Tell me, Madame Giry, will there be some music? Who is the organist, will there be a singer?"

"Why do you want to know that?" Madame Giry asked suspiciously. She knew Erik well enough to suspect that he was planning something. "You wouldn't dare spoil her wedding, would you?"

"Of course not!" Erik replied indignantly, "I just thought that the music at her wedding has to be perfect."

"Piangi agreed to sing the Ave Maria," Madame Giry reluctantly told him, "You won't go there, will you?" Erik grunted annoyed. Madame Giry stopped and pulled at his sleeve to make him look at her. "I mean it, Monsieur Erik Morriere, if you dare spoil her wedding, then you will have me to contend with!"

"O please spare me!" Erik mocked, he would have said more, but they heard Meg retching and both turned round. Meg stood hunched over, holding on to Jules to steady herself, Rene standing behind her, holding back her hair for she had lost her hairpins and hat. Dede stood beside them, holding her hat and her bag.

"Meg?" Madame Giry asked worriedly, "Are you okay?"

"Just... ugh... hangover..." Meg spit out.

"O dear!" Madame Giry sighed, "I'll ask in the restaurant over there if we may use their restroom."

The two women were allowed into the restaurant to use the restroom so Meg could clean herself up, but the waiter did not allow Erik, Dede, Rene and Jules to enter. "I'm deeply sorry, sir, but this is a decent restaurant. We expect our guests to have a certain standard of clothing and behavior."

"But you do allow dogs!" Erik snapped, deeply offended. He saw a dog sitting next to a table and begging his owner for food.

"None of our guests complains about this particular dog. Now, kindly leave the door so guests can come in. By the way - begging, even when disguised as street artists, is not allowed on this sidewalk."

"My friends and I are just waiting for the two ladies. You can't expect us to abandon them when the young lady is sick," Erik snapped coldly.

"We won't disturb anyone," Dede promised, smiling friendly.

"Go away or I'll call the police!"

"Why don't you like us?" Rene complained, "We did nothing bad."

Erik sighed. He was so fed-up with things like these but they happened again and again and again. But right now he did not feel like creating a scandal or fighting. "Come," he said to his friends wearily, "Let's go a few steps. Over there is a kiosk. Who wants crêpe?"

"Why don't you take your crepe here?" the man with the dog said. He had turned round and now Erik did recognize Piangi, "Garçon, these are my **guests** , kindly show them in."

Dede, Rene and Jules rushed to Piangi to greet him with great enthusiasm, then sat down at the table, trying to pretend they were gentlemen. Erik followed them awkwardly. "Good morning, Monsieur Piangi," he said, "Thank you. That's most kind of you."

"I should not do it, after what you did to Carlotta," Piangi stated, "But I can't stand such injustice. You just wanted to help Meg and her mother. Maybe you can tell me now - there have been rumors that she was your accomplice. Are they true?"

Erik decided to use a white lie. "No. I blackmailed her into running errands for me." He couldn't risk her suffering punishment in his place.

Piangi gave no indication if he believed Erik or not. He just ordered crepe for Erik's three friends and coffee. "You are my guests," he said.

"Thank you!" the three mongoloid men answered politely.

"I am sorry, Signore, for all I put you through. You are most kind and I am terribly ashamed for what I did to you," Erik said softly and absently started to caress Piangi's Labrador, noticing that Piangi had lost some weight, but the dog seemed to gain weight and was almost as round as his owner, the dog and his owner resembled each other. "And I have to ask one more favor of you, Signore, please."

Piangi did listen to Erik's suggestions. Then he leaned back and demanded: "I do this only under one condition - that you apologize to Carlotta for all you did to her."

Erik rolled his eyes. "Can I just send her a letter?" He was absolutely sure he would kill that woman and not be able to give any sort of apology, he knew that according to the law and socially accepted moralty he should apologize but he was still convinced that she deserved every hard time he had given her. Writing a letter - and certainly not signing with his name - would be easier.

"Of course. Quid pro quo - we meet there, you hand me the letter and if it is to my satisfaction, I comply."

"Agreed."

They could not talk more for the two Girys came back, Meg looking pale and shaken but much better.

Erik jumped to his feet. "Shall I fetch a cab?" he offered.

"No. She better walks home, she needs some fresh air," Madame Giry decided and Meg groaned. She would have preferred a cab. "Signore Piangi..." Madame Giry exclaimed in surprise as she recognized the tenor, she had not thought she'd see Erik and Piangi together, "Did he trouble you?" Her question was odd, as if Erik was a naughty boy she had to care for.

"Not at all," the tenor smiled, "I just enjoy these gentlemen's company."

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 _Thank you for reading!_

 _I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up for I'm on holiday until the 25th so I'm not sure when I can publish the next chapter._


	76. Happy Day

**Education of the Heart**

 **Happy Day**

The marriage of Raoul, Viscount de Chagny and Christine Daae was not what one would expect for a marriage in a noble family. There were only few guests, keeping it rather familiar, well, familiar in the eyes of an aristocratic family. There were many guests, Raoul was related to so many noble families and Christine had insisted in inviting her friends at the opera and even some people she didn't really consider friends but she did not want to have only three or four guests when Raoul had more than seventy. So in the end they were more than one hundred people, which was to be considered a very small wedding party.

They had chosen a nice chapel outside of Paris but in a spa town where enough plush hotels were so the guests could arrive the day before the wedding and stay two or three days after so no one was in trouble catching his train to return home. Raoul insisted in paying for every guest, even Christine's guests, for they wouldn't be able to afford some days in these hotels.

There had been no discussion that they would hire Piangi to sing at their wedding - he was the best tenor in Paris and Piangi had happily agreed for he liked Christine. His only condition was that he could bring his Labrador Hannibal with him. They had agreed as long as the dog would stay in the hotel during the wedding. At the wedding fest the dog could sit under the table next to his owner.

Raoul was nervous as he stood at the altar, waiting for Christine. His brother stood at his side as his best man, smiling. He had accepted that his brother would not marry out of dynastic reasons but purely out of love. This was the end of the 19th century and the young people had their own ideas, but he knew that at all times men - and even women - from noble families had defied their families and married the one they loved. He had to choose between accepting his brother's decision or loosing him forever, Raoul had even threatened to renounce title and name and call himself "Monsieur Daae" if his brother wouldn't accept his choice. At first Phillippe had accused him of blackmail, but then he had come to know Christine better and had seen how she and his brother were when they were together. Secretly he envied his brother for he himself had never found a love like theirs.

Christine was led to the altar by Madame Giry and she had her best friend Meg at her side because she actually didn't know about any real relatives of herself. She looked wonderful in her white dress with pearl appliqué.

There was no doubt and no fear, certainly not the slightest uncertainty in Raoul and Christine - they were both beaming with happiness for this truly was the happiest day of their lives.

The ceremony was short, as required by them, and rather modest. After they had spoken their vows the organ set in and they waited for the tenor to sing the "Ave Maria". Christine knew immediately that this was not the Ave Maria she knew. The music was different. "What is he doing?" she whispered to Raoul, "This is the wrong score!"

"Don't worry," Raoul replied, "Just think of how much we will laugh when we are going to tell this anecdote to our grandchildren." Christine was his wife, so nothing could ruin his day now.

Piangi started with the Ave Maria, again everyone wondered which score he had picked for it was nothing anyone had heard before. And then a second tenor set in, taking over the lead with Piangi singing the supportive voice. Christine turned pale as she recognized the other voice - it could be no one else but Erik. She could not see him at the gallery but she was sure he was hiding somewhere. He wouldn't risk being seen. At first she didn't know if she should run away in panic or stay and enjoy his singing. Piangi sang as if they had rehearsed this before and Christine wondered how Erik had secured Piangi's cooperation for she knew the tenor - Piangi had never been afraid of the Phantom and had always refused to comply to any sort of blackmail. On the other hand she knew him as a friendly man who was easily persuaded to make someone happy and create a peaceful atmosphere - even if he had to endure Carlotta's temper.

 _Ave Maria, gratia plena;_  
 _Dominus tecum;_  
 _benedicta tu in mulieribus,_  
 _et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus._

 _Sancta Maria, Mater Dei,_  
 _ora pro nobis peccatoribus_  
 _nunc et in hora mortis nostrae._  
 _Amen._

The two voices were easily to tell apart - Piangi was a very good tenor, but the other one sang like an angel had come from heaven just to sing this prayer. When the Ave Maria ended, the organist began with another piece no one had ever heard before and this time only the unknown singer - Christine knew it was Erik - sang.

 _If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing._

 _Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres._

 _Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known._

 _And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love._

The text was simply the text from the bible and it was a fitting text for a marriage, but it had a certain subtext Christine immediately recognized. Erik was telling her that he still loved her, in fact, he loved her so much that he was willing to let her go. He was willing to sacrifice his own happiness for her sake. She didn't know if she should weep with happiness or out of gratitude or out of love for him. Yes, she did love Erik, not like Raoul, but in this moment she knew that she loved Erik too, but in a different way.

"It is him, isn't it?" Raoul whispered, his whole body tense.

"Yes, but he does not mean any harm. He... gives us his blessing," Christine said, smiling happily.

* * *

At the celebration Piangi was asked frequently who the other singer was and his answer was always the same: "A friend of mine." but he never gave away the name. Those who had seen Piangi and his Labrador before noticed that the Labrador was resembling his master somehow which had not been like that before. Both were - politely spoken - a bit too heavy.

At the party Piangi approached Christine, asking her forgiveness for this little cheat, but he hadn't been able to refuse Erik.

Christine was utterly confused to find Piangi calling Erik a friend and speaking of him as if he liked him.

"At first I refused," Piangi admitted, "but when he told me that he knew you sang for him and he wanted to return the favor I couldn't very well say no, could I? And when I heard him sing for the first time, I was... overwhelmed."

"We know the effect of his voice first-hand," Raoul snapped, rather coldly, feeling a bit trapped. Erik being able to manipulate his former victims was something he already knew about, but now Raoul felt like Erik was moving his pawns while he, Raoul, didn't even know which game they were playing.

"Where is Erik now?" Christine asked.

The tenor checked his pocket watch. "I guess he's already on the train to Paris," he answered, "He was in a hurry to get back to Paris before his friends did something odd. I guess you know his friends?"

Christine laughed. Yes, she had seen them.

"Who was that other singer?" someone approached Piangi, "Please tell us - surely Andre and Firmin are eager to hire him on the spot?"

Piangi, Christine and Raoul laughed at that thought.

"No," Piangi assured the man, "They would never ever want to hire him."

* * *

Raoul was not so sure if Erik had departed so he had three men search the hotel, but they found nothing. He even send a servant to the train station, asking if a masked man had boarded the train to Paris and was surprised to get the answer that yes, he had. The stationmaster could remember this that well because there had been a problem, other passengers refusing to let him enter the train, he had insisted that he needed to go to Paris as soon as possible and since he had payed for his ticket he had a right to enter the train, the train guard had tried to persuade him to stay behind and there had nearly been a fight, in the end the masked man had consented to stay in one of the baggage wagons - far away from other passengers - until they were in Paris, since the baggage wagon was nearly empty it shouldn't be such a problem.

"He's gone. He really left," Raoul told Christine happily, "We are free, my dear, free to start our married life without that constant threat!"

Christine was smiling, looking at the sky as if her mind was wandering. "He didn't sing as if he was unhappy," she said, "He made peace and gives us his blessing."

* * *

When Erik came home he was surprised to find Dr. Benevole waiting for him. The doctor explained that Erik's friends had called him and asked for his help because they thought Erik was doing something far too dangerous and the doctor had to rescue Erik.

Erik explained what he had really been doing and why: "I like to play the martyr and honorably sacrifice myself for her happiness," he explained, his voice dripping of sarcasm, "And if this Vicomte is not able to keep her happy, he'll have to answer to me! I will take great pleasure to make him pay for every time she's not well and happy."

"I hope this is just a joke," the doctor replied, "Or do I have to worry about your sanity again?"

Erik went to the bathroom to take off hat, mask and wig and wash his face with cold water. He was drenched in sweat after the uncomfortable train-ride and needed to cool down a bit.

"You have not answered my question!" he heard the doctor call from the corridor, "What did you do and why?"

Erik used the towel to dry himself and put on the mask again, but not the wig, before he opened the door.

"No need to worry," he sighed, "I just said good-by in a way only Christine and I can possibly understand."

"How do you feel about that now?" the doctor asked, forgetting that Erik was no longer his patient.

"I don't know," Erik sighed, "Worn out, I'd say." He slumped down on his bed with a sigh. But he didn't get any rest for his friends climbed on his bed too and hugged him. "Hey! Bed-bugs alarm! Bed-bugs alarm!" Erik exclaimed playfully.

"Forgot one Bed-bug!" Jules complained. He could count to three.

"Okay, okay, Bed-bugs alarm," Erik added with a laugh and sat up again. "I guess they won't let me rest now. Come on, guys, let's do something useful. We could make some cream-cake. Doctor, may I offer some cake as a compensation for the trouble they caused? There was no need to worry, really, it is... hard to describe but I know that she is happy. You should have seen her, doctor, as she stood there at the altar and heard me sing for her. It was like I was her Angel again - but you don't marry angels, do you?"

"Erik happy," Jules stated and clapped Erik on the shoulder, "Erik good friend."

"Yes," Erik confirmed, "I am somehow happy... I can't quite place it, Jules, it is like - you know how you felt when we gave the kittens away for you knew they would be much happier somewhere else? I'm happy because I know it is the best for her - but at the same time I'm sad for I won't be able to see her."

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Well, this is the wedding I came up with - and I really hope you like it. Please review. Next chapter will be up next week (hopefully).


	77. Two Years Later

**Education of the Heart**

 **Two Years Later**

The hard thing about being a doctor is that once a therapy is over people go on with their lives and you have no idea how they are. Dr. Benevole found that he missed Erik. Not that the doctor didn't have enough work to do - on the contrary, since the first experiment had been a great success - from ten men who had been declared criminally insane he had been able to cure five so they could live on their own now and three more were in a state where they still needed someone to keep a tight watch and control them, but they were able to work. Only two of them had been utterly hopeless and the doctor assumed - but this would need further studies - that if someone was not able to feel any empathy there was no cure. Of course he had to admit that he had sorted out all criminally insane men who lacked the necessary intelligence to participate in therapy or suffered from hallucinations or paranoia, because with them therapy was absolutely not possible.

All in, the study had been a success and they knew now that some variants of criminal insanity could be cured simply by helping the men to socialize with others. They reacted well to pets or to friends. All men needed further help to re-integrate into society and all of them ended up in much lower classes than they had hoped for, but all of them somehow managed to build up some sort of life for themselves. It was easier with those who found a woman to care for them, if it was a strong-willed woman who was able to control them. If they found submissive women there was a very high risk of domestic violence. Especially those women who were eager to save the man from his morally depraved state and help them becoming better men through very much love alone were in danger of being shamelessly exploited. Those who knew they were dealing with dangerous and selfish men who needed a strong hand to keep them in line fared much better.

Looking at that statistic Dr. Benevole was glad Erik had finally accepted that Christine married the Vicomte and not him. Statistically Erik was one of those with a high risk for domestic violence for he still was easily angered and had a quick temper. Not that this would have happened anyways, it was just a very high statistical risk.

Now the doctor was back to the university hospital with another study. He tried to find out if there was a cure for addictions, especially the lower working classes suffered a high risk for alcoholism. Until then he had found out that each and every addicted person could stay away from his drug or alcohol, if there was none available and everyone else was clean too. As soon as they left the hospital and got back to their friends - they usually didn't have work or a family any more - they started again. It was easier with people from higher classes who had a family and work to return to, but even they rarely managed.

He just wanted to go home on a Sunday morning when he saw a man with a white mask climbing up the staircase.

"Erik? What are you doing here?" Dr. Benevole asked astonished. He had known Erik sometimes to come to the hospital because he was working on a new prosthesis for a patient, but he hadn't thought he would ever see that man in the part of the hospital where alcoholics and drug addicted went through withdrawal.

"I could say the same, Thomas!" Erik replied, deliberately using the doctor's first name to indicate they were on the same level of social hierarchy.

"I'm working on a new study," the doctor replied, "And you?"

"What does it look like? I'm reporting for duty," Erik answered, gesturing to the working clothes he was wearing.

"Since when do you have a job at the hospital?"

"I'd tell you, if I had the time, but I really have to report for duty now!" Erik checked his pocket watch, then his face lit up: "But if you come with me and tell that you need to 'borrow' me for two hours I'm at your service. Gladly."

* * *

Dr. Benevole was suspicious why Erik was so eager to get away from this job he would have to do. Dr. Benevole's colleague and the nurses weren't happy when they were told that he needed Erik for two hours and would send him back to work then, but they agreed.

Dr. Benevole decided to talk with Erik in his office. He ordered coffee for himself and for Erik and only when he had his coffee he leaned back in his seat and asked again, what Erik was doing there. "It has been two years since I last saw you. What happened?"

Erik raised an eyebrow and blew at his coffee. "Really? Two years? Well... I've been quite busy."

"How are your friends?"

Erik sighed and looked at the window, there was such sadness in him that the doctor was terribly afraid of the answer. "Jules died last summer," Erik told him, "So it is just Dede and Rene now."

"I'm sorry," the doctor replied, "What happened?"

Erik shook his head. "A terrible accident. I told them that they were not allowed to climb on the ladder when I was cleaning the windows. Jules wanted to help me when I left to see a customer in the shop - and fell out of the window of our flat in the attic. He was dead the moment he hit the ground in the backyard." Erik took a shuddering breath, trying to hold back tears. "I am to blame. I wanted that flat in the attic to have my privacy. Had we stayed in the workshop in the ground floor he'd be alive now."

"It was an accident," Dr. Benevole replied sympathetically, "Domestic accidents do happen."

They fell silent for some time, then the doctor asked again what Erik was doing at the hospital.

"That is a long story," Erik answered uneasily, "And not one you'd like."

"I insist!"

"Very well. I am on parole again."

" **What?** " the doctor exclaimed shocked, "What did you do?"

"Tax fraud. The tax authorities found out about our little scheme and Gontier, I and the tax adviser had to stand trial for tax fraud. All of us were sentenced to six month in prison or a money fine. Gontier and the tax adviser could pay the sum - I couldn't so the tax authorities told me if I couldn't pay I had to serve the six month in prison. Six month! That's when I asked if I could work the debt off. They did agree when I argued that I am irreplaceable and you can't let the poor cripples who desperately need their prostheses suffer for my crime - and by the way, a prisoner costs the Republic much money, if I am free and working it is better for all of us. They agreed, so I have one year to work each Sunday and each holiday cleaning up in the hospital for twelve hours a day. This is one of the most disgusting tasks I ever had, but... well, I prefer it to the prison sentence."

"When did you start?"

"Three months ago. I tried to avoid being seen by you, I thought you'd be angry with me," Erik answered sheepishly.

"I'm not happy about that," Dr. Benevole sighed, "But you are no longer my patient."

"I am very happy they found only about 10% of our little trick or it would have been two years in prison for all of us without any chance to buy it off," Erik confessed, sounding rather happy.

"You... you incorrigible scoundrel!" the doctor exclaimed torn between anger and amusement.

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 _To be continued..._


	78. Two Years Later (cont)

**Education of the Heart**

 **Two Years Later (cont.)**

Erik looked aside. "It has something good, you know. When Jules died, I... couldn't sleep. I started to use Laudanum, which is... well, you know. It is just opium tincture. When I started to work here, seeing the suffering of people enduring withdrawal, seeing what the drugs did to them, I stopped. One of your patients, he... did you know he forced his wife and daughters to prostitute so he could buy his drugs?" Erik shuddered. "Every Sunday and every holiday I have to be here, cleaning up the rooms where they go through withdrawal. I see what the patients are going through and I see what their families go through - and I hear doctors talking. I know much about the patients here, especially those who are greeted by the nurses with 'not you again' and those who are brought in by the police and taken to prison right after the worst symptoms of withdrawal are over. Believe me - I won't even think of touching any drug at all, I even avoid alcohol and anything that is known to cause addiction."

"And that stopped you from a relapse in addiction?" the doctor asked astonished, he had not thought it might be that easy. Maybe he should consider including caring for other drug addicts in the therapy - let the patients stay after the withdrawal, don't send them home immediately, and let them care for others. This could help them not suffering a relapse as soon as they were out of the hospital - many of them didn't even make it home sober.

Erik nodded. "Absolutely. But this is just me - I still have to care for Rene and Dede and... did I tell you Maurice passed the final apprenticeship exam and was hired by another watchmaker?"

"I didn't know that, but I'm glad to hear it. What about the other Buquets?"

Erik sighed. "Marie is a seamstress at the opera now, thanks to Madame Giry who persuaded the managers to give her a chance. Unfortunately she is pregnant with the illegitimate child of one of the patrons now. But I managed to persuade him to pay a rather large sum to avoid a scandal - and with that money she could open her own millinery for that is what she does best."

"So you act as her guardian, but I hope you didn't use blackmail or anything illegal?"

"Of course not!" Erik snapped and pretended to be insulted. Of course he had used blackmail. When the man had just said he'd deny having ever seen that girl Erik threatened that he would tell the gossip press it had been rape and of course including the fact that the girl was a minor. Even if there would be no prove and every court would found that man not guilty his reputation would be damaged forever - and so he had paid to buy himself off.

"Weren't there two more children?"

"Jeanne and Claire," Erik replied, again staring at the window and not facing the doctor. "Claire is dead. Typhus. No one knows how she got infected for no one else in the house or in the quarters fell ill."

"O God..." this was really bad news. A dead girl was never good. "Madame Buquet... how did she take it?"

Erik shook his head slightly. "How would a mother react to her child dying? If it wasn't for Marie needing help and Jeanne I guess she would just have killed herself. In fact, she came to me, asking me to end her life. I gave her Laudanum instead, not enough to kill her, just enough to make her sleep. She was reasonable again when she woke up."

"Jeanne?"

"Still in school. Two more years and she'll graduate. She'll make a good nurse one day, the way she nursed her sister and then her mother. Tell me, do you need a nurse here?"

"If she wants to become a nurse she can always ask me," Dr. Benevole assured him, "But of course I can't promise anything. Two years is a long time."

"Tell me about it!" Erik rolled his eyes, "I'm the one who has to wait two more years before I don't have to worry about them any longer. But it is much easier now with only Jeanne to worry about and the others able to support themselves. Well, except Marie perhaps, I'm still a bit worried how it will turn out once the child is born."

Dr. Benevole couldn't help smiling. "You'd make a wonderful foster-grandfather, I'm sure." Erik's shocked expression made the doctor laugh. "You don't have to, if you do not like. At least this is something that is clearly not your fault and could have happened if her father was alive just as easily."

"No, you are right. I seem to have a soft spot for everything tiny, weak and helpless but bravely struggling for survival," Erik sighed, "But in this case I'm glad that they won't come to me for help - I guess they are as eager to get rid of me as I am to get rid of them."

"How's your standing in the neighbourhood?"

Erik sighed. "Sensitive topic. On one hand I've managed to create some sort of positive reputation for myself. It is almost funny that I am now the man with a good heart who wants nothing but to help cripples and deformed people with masks, prostheses and other tools so they can do some work and are no longer a burden to society but earn their livelihood doing honest work. I hadn't known just how many crippled and deformed people do live in Paris. Not to mention that I make a small fortune with that - don't tell the tax authorities, please!" Erik chuckled at the doctor's annoyed grunt. "So some declare me an acceptable member of society now. Others accuse me of ruining the reputation of the quarters for I draw in even more cripples and oddities. That's why I suggested to one of your colleagues that I should move the workshop to the hospital. But he keeps me waiting for an answer. Now that I'm here with you, maybe you could...?"

"I see you learned how to ask for something instead of threatening," Dr. Benevole observed.

"Gontier is a good teacher. He taught me never to lose any opportunity to get someone to do me a favor. So I started to ask everyone for small favors when I need them. In about 10% of times I'm successful. Gontier makes it in about 60% of times, but well, I'm still learning," Erik admitted unashamedly, "Being a magnet for the scum of the popolace is a problem - there are really people who try to drive me away now and it is getting more and more ugly. I'm not talking about the people in the house, no, they more or less tolerate me now, but there are others. I guess I have to thank one of them for the punishment for tax fraud, I guess. I only hope he loses one of his limbs and needs my help then!"

"You wouldn't dare!" the doctor almost screamed.

"Accidents do happen, my dear doctor, and daydreaming is not forbidden," Erik defended himself. He checked his watch. "Can't you tell your colleague that you need me a bit longer? I'm certainly not particularly keen to be on my knees wiping up vomit and urine."

"It is a well-deserved punishment, Erik, you did commit tax fraud, didn't you? I'm just wondering that you got away with it that lightly."

"No sympathy, eh? Well then, I'll leave you to your well-deserved rest. Must have been a nasty night shift, the doorman told me," Erik answered.

"The doorman?"

"The night doorman, you know, the one with only one leg. Now with the new prosthesis he can walk without using crutches and he's really happy with that," Erik explained, "I try to get rid of him through asking favors of him every time I see him - usually people avoid me after some time if I overdo this - but he's really a dangler, must be a very lonely man that he needs me to talk to."

Dr. Benevole noticed that Erik had talked about much, but not about the Vicomtesse de Chagny. Should he address the topic or not?

"You look like you wanted to ask me an awkward question," Erik observed and the doctor couldn't help grinning. His patient had learned a lot about observing people's mimic and body language since he first met him, sometimes the doctor wondered if Erik had learned enough about psychiatry from books to be half a psychiatrist himself.

Dr. Benevole sighed. "The Vicomtesse de Chagny?" he asked awkwardly, not really sure he wanted to know the answer.

The more he was surprised by the smile that showed on Erik's misshaped lips. "She is an accomplished lady," Erik answered smiling, but there was a certain sadness in his eyes, "I see her on a regular basis, you know. She is one of those rich ladies who have too much time and too less to do so they indulge in charity work. She is in the committee that decides which one of the beggars who ask for help is worthy of a special prosthesis and help to find a job."

"Then you have to work with her often," the doctor stated, "Can you really handle this?"

Erik replied with a sly grin and checking his watch: "That is nothing I can explain in two minutes time. But if you send someone to tell your colleague that you need me a few hours more I'll tell you everything. And if you are sending an errand boy - I'd like some tea and maybe something to eat? If you have chocolates I'd take them home for Dede and Rene. Did I tell you that they insisted on bringing a piece of chocolate to Jules' grave?"

The doctor sighed, then opened the door and called out to someone, giving him a message for his colleague and ordering tea and sandwiches. He even ordered a large box of chocolates, thinking of the mongoloid men - especially Jules grin when he had been given sweets. It was hard to know that he would never again have that man touching his newspapers and blocks with his hands, leaving chocolate finger prints everywhere.

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 _Thanks for reading! Please review! Next chapter will be up on Friday (hopefully)._


	79. Blue Sky and Clouds

**Education of the Heart**

 **Blue Sky and Clouds**

Erik grabbed a sandwich and ate hungrily, much to the doctor's surprise. "I didn't have breakfast," Erik explained, "I can't eat before my shift in the hospital - I'm here to clean up the mess not make it bigger." Dr. Benevole noticed that Erik now seemed not to worry about that. Had the masked charlatan found a way to escape his work today? Well, obviously he hoped to be able to keep the doctor interested in his tale for the next ten hours. Dr. Benevole shook his head. This man was an incorrigible scoundrel, but not dangerous any longer. At least he hoped so.

Erik watched the doctor carefully. "Don't worry, I'll tell you about Christine," he said, obviously mistaking the doctors expression.

"So, Madame de Chagny is one of the ladies of the committee," the doctor stated, "Isn't it very painful for you to work so closely together with her?"

"Actually no. I had to teach her that not everyone who begs for help really deserves any generosity, most are just workshy scum."

The doctor feigned a cough. "Errr... don't you think you are a bit prejudiced?"

"Certainly not. Do you know how many beggars try to look like cripples even if they are healthy if unwashed?" Erik replied, "I can tell between a real cripple and one who just tries to look like one so he's not send to the workhouse!"

"It seems you fit into society rather well - even adopting their prejudice," Dr. Benevole remarked, "What do you think about criminally insane men who can be reintegrated into society if they get help instead of a prison sentence?"

"Now **that** is something else altogether!" Erik defended himself, grabbing another sandwich from the plate, "But really - Christine was far too trusting. I had to teach her not to believe everyone. Many men do ask for help, but if this help comes with conditions you never see them again. You see, this was one rule I requested in the charity foundation: They help only those men who accept that they don't just get a prosthesis, they get a job too and they have no right to refuse to work. No alcoholic or drug addicted gets any help, no one who was injured committing a crime or causing an accident through grave carelessness gets any help, only those who deserve help."

Dr. Benevole sighed and rested his head in his hands. "O my. You should be grateful that no one with your attitude was on the board that decided **you** deserved help. You, my friend, would condemn yourself to death if you had been the magistrate."

Erik shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It is not like that. I know that I was granted help I didn't deserve - but this does not mean we can withhold help from those who deserve it and give it to those who are just workshy."

"I'll give you that. You can't help everyone and some are more deserving than others."

"See?" Erik beamed with pride that he had won this argument. He soon became serious again. "But then there is the fact that some injuries can't be helped with any prostheses. David lost not only his arm but part of his shoulder as well - if he had an artificial arm, he wouldn't be able to use it anyways, it would rather hinder him than do any good. Do you understand what I am talking about?"

"I'm no surgeon, but I understand that much. You still owe me an answer - Madame de Chagny, how can you work with her?"

"Exceptionally well," Erik answered, "It seems our roles are reversed now. I have been her tutor and guardian angel in the past - now she is the one protecting me. She even covered the... ooops!"

"What did she cover?" the doctor asked, suspecting the worst.

"When the Buquet girl was so sick I... I had my fingers in the cash desk. A little. A tiny little bit. A few coins, just enough to pay the doctor and later the funeral..." Erik confessed uneasily, shifting in his seat and biting his nails, "She... lend me the money to pay it back before anyone noticed."

"I take it that you don't call this a relapse?"

"Hmmmm - no. It wasn't for my own benefit."

"So she protected you from being found out and facing trial for theft? You know that this time you'd end up in jail?"

"Hmmm-hmmm" Erik didn't stop chewing his fingernails and looked down at his shoes.

"I take it that you are paying it back?"

"Of course! I'd never betray **her**!" Erik snapped angrily, then sighed and slumped back in his chair, "No need to scold me, doctor. You can't imagine how it was like to be found out by **her** of all people and having to answer to **her**. She was so... disappointed. She told me if I had asked her help, she would of course have given me the money without ever asking it back. I feel cheap. And yes, she covered my... misdeed. But since that day she renounced my permission to take money from the account to buy materials. I have to order the materials and have the invoices send to the foundation and then the suppliers get paid."

"Not as cured as I thought you were," Dr. Benevole grumbled.

"O spare me!" Erik snapped, "I know that! But the foundation pays very well for my services... oops. Don't tell the tax authorities!"

"I really ought to tell the magistrate!" the doctor hissed, his teeth clenched.

Erik nodded. "That's what her husband said. But she... stood up against him to protect me. You see, I am well-paid for my unique services. I rarely make watches or music boxes any more because I'm so busy with the prostheses and I earn much more because no one else can make them. So officially I am an honest man with a very respectable occupation and even some of the surgeons in this hospital praise my skills."

"I understand that you are still a criminal," the doctor said disappointed, "Just a thief and a liar."

Erik sighed. "Not anymore. I don't want to see that look in her eyes ever again." He shuddered. "When she argued with her husband if they should call the police or not I realized that I had underestimated her. She is a good woman, but no longer a naive and trusting girl." Erik grew very quiet and studied his teacup as if this was interesting. "I still love her, you know," he confessed sadly, "But not with that terrible passion. It is like the eruption of a volcano - if the lava is still red-hot it consumes everything in its path, but if it cooled down it is no longer liquid fire that brings nothing but death, it is the best productive land."

"What you say is all good and well, but your actions speak another language," the doctor reminded him.

"Not anymore," Erik answered seriously, "Never again. I never ever want to degrade myself like that again. She protected me - if I ever do anything like that again, I would bring disgrace upon **her**. I just can't do that."

"You really expect me to trust you now?"

Erik chuckled. "Why not? You trusted me when I lied, why wouldn't you trust me when I am telling the truth?"

"Sometimes I wonder if you are cured..."

"Sometimes I wonder myself," Erik answered, grinning sheepishly, "But I do respect Christine too much to do that to her. Yes, I do respect her and instead of trying to get her to love me I build up something else, something that is much bigger than any family could ever be. You were right, doctor, a man does not need to have a wife and children to have a good life. I can see Christine twice a months, I still have Dede and Rene and we live in a nice flat. If you are able to convince the hospital's management to give me a workshop here, the problem with the neighbours about me being a magnet for beggars, cripples and workshy ragtag will be solved."

"Just a moment - did you just say **I** have to convince...?"

"You wouldn't let me down, would you?"

Dr. Benevole sighed deeply. "Right. I'll talk to my colleagues. But I will personally check the hospitals cash box and the stock of drugs!"

"Drugs? Do you think me mad, after all I've seen here in the hospital so far? I thought what I suffered had been horrible - and yet it was nothing compared to what they are going through. I won't touch any drugs again, never ever. I don't even dare drinking any alcohol," Erik exclaimed and shuddered at the mere thought of what he knew drugs could do to men.

"You always spoke about 'what's in for me' - now let me ask you: What's in for you now? Are you happy with that life you're living?"

"Yes and no. Yes, I am glad that I have Dede and Rene, and Gontier more or less took accepted me as a friend of the family. And I help Madame Giry looking after her daughter Meg."

"What do you mean - looking after her daughter? I thought she's the prima ballerina at the opera?" the doctor asked surprised.

"This does not mean she is allowed to go out with any patrons her mother does not approve of! She mustn't risk her reputation. I hadn't thought it was that difficult to look after a grown up girl - we constantly have to take care she doesn't escape and goes to her rendezvous unchaperoned. Usually any man who wants to ask her for a dance or to dine with him has to deal with her mother and me first - and we always accompany Meg."

Dr. Benevole wondered if any man would ever ask Meg for a date if he had to deal with her mother and Erik before he could get to her - and then have them coming with her, keeping an eye on her. The poor girl would end up as an old maid. "Are you sure you aren't overdoing this a bit?" The doctor could easily imagine the beautiful blonde dancer and behind her two threatening figures in black, both glaring at the young man and putting him through the mill before he could even say hello to Meg - if there was a brave young knight in shining armor he might be willing to slay two dragons - but to put up with those two chaperones would send every young man running away in panic.

"Absolutely. So far there has been but one young man who seems to have honourable intentions," Erik replied seriously, "He's a friend of the de Chagny's and a rich nobleman himself." Erik smiled as he added: "I'm not good in scaring away pretty young boys, am I? He mistook me for Meg's father at the beginning, which made it easy to question him, but he seems to be sincere. And if he's not there is always the Punjap Lasso."

"I hope this is on of your weird jokes!" the doctor gasped.

Erik chuckled. "Yes, it is. He's a good boy and they are engaged. If one risks having Madame Giry and me as parents in law he must truly love her." Both men laughed at the thought.

"It seems you found yourself a family," the doctor mused smiling.

"Sometimes I think my 'family' is growing too fast," Erik sighed, "They can be trying, but I don't want to miss one of them." He smiled suddenly and added: "I never thought I'd have so many friends in my life. There are the Giry's - I guess Madame Giry sees me as some kind of son now, Meg sees me as some kind of surrogate father, to Gontier I am a business partner and friend, the female doctor treats me like a grandson, to Dede and Rene I'm a father-figure, it is more difficult with the Buquets - they know I killed their father, but somehow they... we don't talk about that any more. They treat me with some respect and come to me first when they need help." He grinned awkwardly. "I guess with Marie having a child now, I won't be entirely rid of them. But when she and her mother have that millinery, at least they provide for themselves and I can... well, I don't know... I guess I'm taking in apprentices, I can't do all that work alone."

"Your future does not look bleak, does it?" Dr. Benevole asked smiling.

"No," Erik said, surprised to realize that he actually had a future, "It is not what I hoped for, it is something I never ever thought about, nothing I ever wanted, but... I can live that life." He shifted in his chair. "I'm growing old, doctor, too old to fight for something I can never have. I have to be content with what I can get and stop fighting lost causes. I' so weary of fighting for something I can never have. But that is okay now, I have something else, something I never wanted, but it is... okay. It is okay." He stared at his hands in his lap, deep in thought, then added: "Do I really have to go back to work now? I think I could tell you so much about the good work the charity foundation does..."

Dr. Benevole couldn't help laughing. Erik had managed to find a way to escape the punishment for half a day by now and tried to get more time off. "I won't help you escape that punishment," Dr. Benevole stated, "Absolutely not. And I really hope you will become honest in the future - no tax fraud, no theft, not demanding fancy prices!"

Erik laughed and held up is hands mockingly admitting defeat. "I get it, doctor, I know when I've lost. But you won't forget to remind your colleagues that I really need to install my workshop here in the hospital, will you?"

The doctor took a sheet of paper and started to write a note to his colleagues as Erik watched, then he handed the note over. "Here - take this to my colleague. And maybe you ask him if he wants a music box for his daughter's birthday next month. I'm sure this will help your request."

"Thank you!" Erik got up and smiled happily, "I guess we're going to see each other again, if we are both working at this department in the hospital now. I'm always glad if I can help you." It was obvious that he hoped to get more pleasant tasks than cleaning the sobering-up cells. Dr. Benevole actually considered this, but he surely would not tell him. Erik needed to feel the punishment now or he would never learn to play by the rules. He was not mentally ill, he was just dishonest and this punishment was something much better than a prison sentence. Dr. Benevole considered talking to Clemenceau, maybe the magistrate could give other criminals the chance to escape prison sentence working off the monetary punishment. This might help them reintegrating into society - but of course only minor offenses could be dealt with that way. Dr. Benevole made a note for a future study he wanted to start.

"I'm good in inspiring others, am I not?" Erik asked, grinning. He had read the doctors note.

"You are - and now back to work and that is an official order!" Dr. Benevole replied, knowing Erik would take anything but a strict order as invitation to delay his work further, "Good luck, Erik. I'm sure you have found your place in this world now."

"Thank you, Thomas!" Erik answered and held out his hand. Thomas de Benevole took his hand and shook it warmly.

 _XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

 _As you might have guessed we are close to the end of the story now. But there will be one more chapter next week. :-)_


	80. Future Looking Bright

**Education of the Heart**

 **Future Looking Bright**

Erik had been right, as soon as he could install a workshop in the the hospital - he ended up next to the pathology department for this was where he and his customers, all of them crippled and deformed, would not disturb anyone for the dead were unlikely to complain - and went back to producing only watches, music boxes and various toys in the old workshop, the attacks against him became fewer and fewer. He still was highly unpopular, most people thinking him weird, scary, mad and disgusting, but except for the usual complaints to the police and the gossip there weren't too many assaults. Yes, he still suffered from people staring, talking, spitting at the ground when he passed them - as long as they didn't try to spit at him he could pretend to ignore it to avoid a fight. No one attacked him physically, no stones thrown, no sticks and no dog dirt. It still hurt being treated like dirt, but at least they treated him like human scum and not like a rabid dog which has to be driven away or put down before he can bite - and infect - someone.

Unfortunately the tax authorities found out about another problem with the bookkeeping - Erik strongly suspected a certain neighbor to have given them a hint - and Erik confessed to being so busy, he actually forgot to take down everything, so the numbers he gave the tax adviser might be lacking. He didn't confess to willful tax fraud, just to neglecting his duties and absolutely sloppy bookkeeping - keeping Gontier and the tax adviser out of the investigation. He stood trial again, confessing to tax evasion as offence by negligence and paying conscience money, which was partly provided by a very grateful Gontier. This bought him a mild punishment - another year working off the punishment instead of going to prison. At least he didn't have to clean the sobering-up cells, he got to assist the Professor of the pathology department in cataloguing the collection of exhibits which were preserved in glasses of alcohol. Another man might have thought this a disgusting or even frightening work - it was not. In fact, it was interesting.

Despite all his talking about being eager to get rid of the Buquet family Erik was rather happy when they stayed - mostly because they didn't know where to go. As women they needed a guardian to open a shop, they couldn't do it themselves. So Erik agreed that they could turn the shop at least partly into a millinery since he was so busy making prostheses that he didn't need all the space in the shelves for watches, clocks and music boxes. Two shops in one with just one shopkeeper - that was a nice idea for business. So Marie could work at home and had her mother and her sister close by to help her with the child.

Since having a illegitimate child could get her a punishment for fornication, Erik worked out a plan together with Madame Buquet. Once Marie's stomach would grow too round to hide, she would be send to a climatic health resort, telling everyone she had a nasty lung infection and needed cure. She would introduce herself there under a false name as a married woman. As long as the costs were pre-paid there wouldn't be too many questions asked. She could give birth to the child there. Her mother would visit her and bring the baby back, they would claim to have found the child at their doorstep. Then they could "adopt" the "foundling". Of course everyone would talk and gossip, but as long as no one could bring valid prove there would at least be no legal reprimands.

Dr. Benevole was delighted when he learned of this. It was the female doctor who told him as one doctor to another and asked him to come over. The doctor was surprised to find Dede and Rene proudly pushing a pram. "Hello," he greeted them, then looked into the pram. He saw a baby peacefully sleeping. "Would you tell me the baby's name?"

"Dede," Dede exclaimed proudly.

"Maximilian Rene," Rene corrected.

"Dede," Dede retorted and stuck out his tongue, "like me."

"Maximilian Rene - like us!" Rene protested, close to tears.

"Maximilian Rene on paper - but call Dede," Dede admitted, not wanting his friend to be sad.

That moment the door to the shop opened and Madame Buquet came out. As she recognized the doctor she let out a sigh of relief. "Sorry, I have told them not to let anyone near him - but of course you can see him." She looked at the sleeping baby lovingly. "Maximilian Rene Buquet - my daughter's **adopted** son." The way she stressed the word "adopted" only convinced the doctor further that it was her child but he bit his tongue and kept silent. He wouldn't tell anyone.

"Have you seen Erik Morriere today?" Dr. Benevole changed the topic.

"Yes, just moments before he shot out of the shop like a bat from a cave and rushed to the hospital. He always does that when the baby starts crying - he freaks out completely," she answered with an amused grin.

"He can't bear to hear a baby cry?" Dr. Benevole raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Absolutely not. He always assumes the worst, panics, and always tells us to take the baby to the hospital when it utters the tiniest noise... His friends on the other hand seem to have a hand with the baby." She chuckled and took the baby in her arms. The boy laughed happily. "It would be funny if it weren't that tragic," she continued, "we thought we would be rid of one another and could start forgetting. And then this... You see, Monsieur Morriere was so eager to help, almost begged us on his knees to stay as if he couldn't bear the thought of not having to care for us any longer. He claims to want nothing to do with the baby, but I know he secretly comes to see the baby when he thinks no one but his two friends notice. As long as little Dede sleeps or is happy he would stand at his cradle and just watch as if he was hypnotized by the child's large blue eyes - but as soon as the child makes the first cry, burp or any other sign of discomfort he panics - if we tell him it's nothing, he runs away." She became serious again. "I can't forget that he killed my dear husband, but now he... he denies himself a family so he can provide for mine. You see, there are women who would gladly accept an invitation from him, but either he is too blind to see that or he deliberately denies himself. Madame Giry would marry him on spot, but he can't see that and I can name at least three other women who would not turn him down. I do not hate him, not anymore."

The doctor reached in his suitcase and handed Rene and Dede, who stood by the child's pram as if they were the fathers of the boy, a box of chocolates. They thanked him politely, then asked Madame Buquet how they could give the chocolate to the child and she had a hard time convincing them that the baby could eat nothing but milk now, chocolate was only edible for children older than three.

He went back to the hospital, but he didn't think he had made his way in vain. It seemed that there was some sort of peace between Erik and the Buquet family. Of course the gruesome murder stood still between them and this was nothing anyone could change, but they seemed to have found some peace.

* * *

He found Erik in his workshop, but he was not alone. Erik was discussing with a woman and there was no doubt who that was - the Vicomtesse.

"Erik, this has to stop! Meg told me about you and her mother accompanying her to the dinner with the Baron - she was so ashamed of you, you completely ruined her date!" Christine berated him.

"Honestly, I was not doing much. I just sat there..."

"Playing with the Punjap Lasso and boasting how many ways you knew how to kill with it!" Christine's voice was high-pitched in her anger.

"Because he asked me what this was..."

"Don't even try! You won't ruin this for Meg! Meg is deeply in love with the Baron!"

"I don't trust him. Her mother and I won't leave her one second alone with him before they are officially married!" Erik protested.

"They are engaged. He even signed a marriage contract before a notary public and the wedding is to be in six months. Can't you just let them have a walk in the park without two threatening black shadows behind them?" Christine sighed, "What could they do in a public space like the Bois with all that people around them?"

"He's a man, Christine, you know what men do to women..."

"Kidnap and blackmail them?" Christine snapped annoyed, "He's a gentleman. They are going to be married, her family approves of Meg - god knows why, you and Madame Giry gave your best interpretation of scarecrows!"

That moment a baby made itself known. "What is it? Is he ill? We are at the hospital, I could..." Erik's voice told of his distress.

Christine laughed. "I don't need a professor to change my babies nappies," she told him, "Make some space on your desk, I'll just take care of that."

"Can't you call the nanny?"

"I told you I gave her a few hours to visit her sick mother," Christine answered, "We'll meet in two hours at the main entrance of the hospital then."

"Is that normal?" Erik asked, even more panicked, obviously pointing at something.

Dr. Benevole decided to make his presence known. Christine was busy changing a babies nappies, it was a healthy boy with blonde hair. The baby boy laughed and bubbled happily as his mother played with him. Erik stood by, looking pale, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, anxiously watching the giggling baby as if it was a bomb that might explode any second now. As he saw the doctor he rushed to stand behind the doctor, pointing to the baby. "Is that normal? Healthy? Or is he sick?" he asked, pointing to the baby which was a picture of perfect health and laughing.

"What?" Dr. Benevole asked, wondering what had spooked Erik.

"He's sick and his nappies... he doesn't suffer cholera or typhus or...?"

"He's not sick, just drooling. Babies do that. And if he eats nothing but milk, what do you expect his faeces to look like?" the doctor replied laughing, earning a relieved "Thank you!" from Christine who didn't know how to explain to Erik that not every noise a child made meant it was close to death. His overprotectiveness was annoying.

"May I introduce Gustave Phillipe Erik Maria de Chagny," Christine proudly told Dr. Benevole, then handed the baby to Erik: "Hold him while I put the used nappies in the bag."

Erik stood there, holding the baby, a look of utter panic in his face. "He won't fall, will he? I'm not hurting him, am I? He's so tiny and fragile... He's moving! Christine, what am I to do - he's moving?!"

"You wanted to see him!" Christine scolded him annoyed, "Right now you behave like the baby here!" She added an annoyed grunt: "Men! You are just like Raoul! As soon as Gustave just breathes a bit louder he thinks he's got a lung infection or tuberculosis or whatever. If men had to have children, the human race would have gone extinct ages ago! Now. Back to the main topic. There has been a discussion about the charity gala. Everyone wants to meet the genius behind the marvels you create."

"No! I told you, I won't be on public display, not even for a worthy cause!" Erik refused.

"You wouldn't have to take your mask off, "Christine reasoned, "And you really ought to thank them for they will grant you a small pension when you will no longer be able to work so you won't end up in the almshouse. They did follow my arguments that the foundation should grant you that favor. Erik, you don't have to worry about your old age any longer, you ought to be grateful."

"I would have to be polite, friendly and shake hands," Erik shuddered and pressed the baby closer to his breast. Little Gustave was drooling on his jacket, but Erik seemed not to notice. "Then I would have to be entertaining, charming and eat and drink with them. No. Certainly not. I told you, once and for all, NO!"

"Congratulations, Madame. He looks just like his father!" Dr. Benevole decided to change the topic.

"Yes, he does," Christine smiled proudly, "He looks just like Raoul."

"How can you say that?" Erik asked curiously, "He's a baby. He looks like a baby. And he's just filling his nappies again."

"O do give him back to me!" Christine took her child and placed the boy in his pram. The boy started sucking both thumbs and grinned. "Erik, this topic is not settled. At least make a token appearance and say 'thank you' - then you can excuse yourself. And if I have to drag you out of the catacombs!"

As soon as she had left with the baby, Erik sighed and slumped down in his chair as if he was exhausted. "Women," he grunted, "Tell me doctor, why did you tell her the baby looks like his father? To me they all look the same - a tiny bundle constantly expelling some rather disgusting liquid like a never ending fountain."

"Mothers like to hear that their son looks like his father," the doctor explained, "It's a white lie. But you seemed to be fond of him?"

"Hrmpf"

"No need denying a soft spot. I met Madame Buquet..."

Erik put his elbows on his desk and rested his head in his hands. "It seems I won't be rid of them for at least another fifteen years - if I live that long, that is."

"She said you wanted them to stay," the doctor informed him.

Erik grunted. "She must have confused something. I don't like her or her daughters and surely not the baby. But Dede and Rene are so much in love with the baby, I couldn't..." The doctor stopped listening. Erik was denying that he had a feeling heart now, but he knew better. Erik ended his little rant with: "She told me that she would forgive me, you know. Not now, but I could rest assured that I would not die without her forgiveness. That is more important to me than any priests absolution."

"What was that about Madame Giry and her daughter?"

"O that... Meg and Christine are friends, so Meg complains to Christine about her mother and me. She does not appreciate that we are trying hard to protect her from disgrace," he sighed, "As I said, my friend, my family is growing far too fast. I could need a few assistants to deal with all of them."

"Did you just call me 'friend'?"

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 _thank you for reading this rather long fanfic! I really appreciate all reviews! Thank you very much! :-)_


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